


Renewal

by Cheree_Cargill



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Childbirth, F/M, Marriage, Miscarriage, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 10:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15638718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: On the Enterprise's second five year mission, Spock and Christine begin a journey that will lead them through life, death, rebirth, sorrow and renewal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Renewal is (c) May 1999 by Cheree Cargill. This is an amateur publication and is not intended to infringe upon any legally existing copyright held by any person or corporate entity. Star Trek is the property of Paramount Studios.
> 
> This is the first Spock/Chapel novel I wrote and generally follows the canon TOS timeline from post-ST:TMP up through ST4:TVH. It was published as a fanzine, but has never been online anywhere before being featured here. In this version, McCoy has retired again and Christine is again the CMO of the Enterprise. Saavik should be viewed as played by Robin Curtis.

**PART I**

**Chapter 1**

**_Earth Standard Date: 2274_ **

**_U.S.S. Enterprise, on extended patrol_ ** _._

_Medical log. Stardate: 7648.9. Dr. Christine Chapel recording. I have become increasingly concerned about First Officer Spock's behavior. He has grown slowly more restless and agitated over the past two weeks until he has become short‑tempered and confrontational. Definitely_ not _normal behavior. He manages to maintain his normal routine and so far I have seen nothing that would prompt me to insist that he come in for a physical. And yet his conduct reminds me of something I've seen before and which disturbs me deeply. I will continue to monitor his actions._

Dr. Christine Chapel finally decided that there was something very wrong with Commander Spock when she overheard him loudly reprimanding his yeoman. The hapless young woman was quivering in her tracks before the door to his cabin as the Vulcan first officer slashed the stylus point down through the report on the datapad he held and then practically threw both items back at her.

"When you can do the work I require of you, yeoman, I will find this report satisfactory!" he all but shouted at her. "Until that time, get back to your desk and do your job correctly! Is that clear?!"

"Yes, Mr. Spock," she answered in a stricken voice. "Right away, sir."

He spun back into his cabin, the door hissing closed behind him. Christine had been rooted in her tracks down the corridor, watching the scene. _Oh, my God_ , she thought. _This is like act two of a bad holo._ Quickly she intercepted the pale, trembling crewman who was hurrying toward the lift, hastily wiping away the tears streaming down her face.

"I saw what happened, Marcy," the doctor assured her.

"I don't understand it, Dr. Chapel," the girl sniffed. "I don't know what I did to upset him like that."

"Don't you worry about it." The older woman patted her arm. "Just go redo your report like he said. I'll talk to him."

"Thank you, Doctor."

The girl hurried away and Christine stepped up to Spock's door, pressing the buzzer. There was no answer so she pressed it again.

This time the door opened and Spock glared at her. "What do you want?"

"May I come in, Mr. Spock? I'd like to talk to you."

"No." The door slid closed abruptly.

Christine's eyes narrowed and she simply hit the entry button and marched in anyway. Spock swung on her in fury. "How dare you enter my cabin without permission!"

"What's going on, Spock?" she demanded.

"I don't think that's any of your business!"

"Oh, I think it is," she retorted, crossing her arms and standing her ground.

"And what _makes_ it your business, Doctor?" he growled.

She stared at him coldly. "My position as Chief Medical Officer of this starship," she shot back.

He didn't answer, but stood glowering at her, breathing heavily. Then he turned away and walked into his bedchamber. She followed him, although she stopped in the entryway.

"How long has it been since your last _pon farr_ , Spock?"

" _What?!_ " The word was dangerous, warning, said through clenched teeth. He looked on the verge of physical violence, but she refused to back down.

"You heard me. It's either that or you've shot up an armful of Cordrazine, and I don't think _that's_ very likely. Answer me."

He swung on her, towering over her in rage. "You dare to ask me such personal questions?" he snarled. "I would kill a _man_ for that!"

"No, you wouldn't," she answered with forced calmness. If she bolted now, there was no telling what he would do. She had to stand up to him, to take command of this situation. "Think, Spock. It's the blood fever that's making you feel this way. It's burning you up inside! Now, answer my question. When was your last _pon farr_?"

"I recall throwing you out of my cabin once when you came prying where I didn't want you," he hissed. "Shall I do so again?" The expression in his eyes was murderous.

She didn't budge. "You can physically pick me up and throw me out the door if you want," she responded, her eyes locked tight on his. "I'm not strong enough to stop you from doing that. But I'll just come back with Captain Kirk and a dozen security guards and we'll have this out. Now, why don't we keep this peaceful? Just answer my question. When?"

He was still watching her with undisguised malice, his chest heaving as he kept a thin rein on his fury, but then she could see him give it up a little. He turned away. "Since my divorce from T'Pring," he answered miserably.

She mentally calculated. "Then it's time again."

He was standing with his back to her and she saw his fists clench. "Yes, it's time again." His voice was filled with disgust.

"But you have no bondmate to return to now. What will happen to you?" He wouldn't respond and she insisted in a slightly threatening tone, "Spock, I've seen you go through this before, remember. Talk to me."

He sighed heavily and still refused to look at her. "What usually happens to Vulcans who have no way to release their primitive urges. I will most likely go mad and die." He tightened his fists again and trembled as he fought to control himself.

Christine looked thoughtful and did not speak for a moment, then inquired, "Must you be _bonded_ or would simply having sex relieve the pressure?"

He turned to stare in disbelief at her, then shook his head. "Doctor, you don't know what you're proposing."

"I think I do, Mr. Spock," she answered calmly, although she was quaking inside. "If what you need is sexual intercourse in order to get through this condition, then use my body as necessary."

He moved toward her. "But it _won't_ be just your body ... Christine," he said, coming to gaze down at her. She could almost feel the heat radiating from his body as the blood fever began to manifest itself. "It is _not_ simply the joining of two bodies; it is the joining of minds. Do you understand me? I would enter your mind and not let you go until the _plak tow_ has burned itself out."

She stood her ground and met his stare without flinching. "If that's what it takes," she answered.

"No, I won't use you like that. I could seriously injure you ... or worse."

"Spock, how else can you survive this?" she asked in a reasonable tone then decided to turn tables on him. "If you need me to get through this, then it is logical that we both do whatever is necessary."

He drew back and stared at her for a moment. "It is logical," he said in a hoarse voice, "but I resist that logic."

"I resist your dying," she responded. "Tell me what I must do."

He closed his eyes in resignation and hung his head, then turned back to his bedchamber and spoke softly. "The _plak tow_ has not yet reached its crucial point. You must be ready when it does to ... to assist me. I may not be able to speak to you and I may ... I may inadvertently hurt you in the process. I do not know how long it will last." He was clutching his hands together before him, almost as if he were praying. "Please don't insist on doing this, Christine. It is much too dangerous for a human to experience."

She moved up beside him and laid a hand on his arm. Instinctively, he flinched away, but she determinedly insisted on touching him. "I will make sure that we are left strictly alone. Captain Kirk will back me up on this."

"I want no one else to know," he whispered and there was deep shame tinging his voice.

"I _must_ inform the Captain and then I'll come back here. I'll be ready when you need me." She squeezed his arm. "Spock, I promise. I won't leave you until you're through this."

* * *

Kirk had been astounded at first when she told him, then surrendered as he was forced to agree with her solution. This time, there just wasn't any way to get him back to Vulcan. Their second five-year mission, assigned following the V'ger incident three years before, had taken them far outside their home sector on mapping duties. They were currently in uncharted space, far outside Federation territory, exploring along the edges of the Gamma Quadrant. It would take them four weeks at high warp to get back to the 40 Eridani star system. Somehow, he doubted Spock had that long.

At last, the Captain sighed and gave her a faint smile. "Well, look at it this way, Christine. You're finally getting him into bed!"

She leveled a reproving stare at him. "Captain, really."

"Sorry, Doctor. I suppose all I can say is ... carry on."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**_Earth Standard Date: 2274_ **

**_USS Enterprise, on extended patrol_ **

****

She was shaking like a leaf when she went back to Spock's cabin and locked the door behind her. The room was darkened, lit only by the reddish glow from the fire pot on his dresser. At first, she didn't see him, then found him kneeling on the meditation pillow in the corner of his bedroom. He had changed into a long Vulcan robe of a rich blue color. His hands were folded before his face, his fingers steepled, and he didn't appear to notice her.

"Spock?" she asked softly. He didn't respond and she called his name again. This time, he seemed to rouse himself and looked blearily up at her. "What must I do to prepare?"

It seemed to take him a long time to process that question, then he answered in a low and gravelly voice, as if it were an effort to speak. "It would be best if you undressed... You can wear ... my other ... robe..." His brow furrowed and he seemed to lose his train of thought then finally got it back. "In closet ... white one..." He sank back down into his inner struggle and lowered his head again.

She went to the cabin's closet and pushed back the sliding door. His stock of standard and dress uniforms were hanging in orderly and precise ranks, two pairs of extra boots standing at attention below, gleaming like mirrors. To one side on the rack, segregated from the Starfleet issued clothing, hung a few articles of Vulcan attire, including a long cream-colored caftan-like garment.

Taking it off its hanger, she laid it across the bed then sat down and began to pull off one of her boots. She was hesitant at first to undress in front of him, but then realized that he was totally oblivious to her, sunken deeply into his meditation. Quietly, she got out of her uniform and undergarments and slipped the robe over her head.

It was much too big for her, the quilted sleeves hanging past her fingertips and the hem dragging the floor, but somehow that emphasized all the more that she was wearing his clothing. The clothing that touched him was now touching her. It was almost as if he had wrapped his arms around her and she hugged the thick woven fabric to her, goosebumps thrilling over her at the sudden intimacy she felt. Her heart pounding, she slid onto the bed and curled her legs up under her. Trembling in spite of herself, she lightly ran her hand over the red coverlet. It was just a standard issue bedspread on a standard issue mattress, exactly like the ones she had in her own cabin, but it was special all the same, because it was _his_ bed, where he lay at night. Soon she would be lying here with him, lying in his arms, and that suddenly frightened her. How often she had dreamed of being in this position, of giving herself to him like this. For years she had fantasized about the two of them, of the ecstasy she would feel as he made love to her, of his lips and hands as they explored her body. But it wouldn't be like that, she knew. She wondered if he'd even be aware of her other than as "female". From what little she knew of Vulcan sexuality, he would be so deep into the blood fever that he would be essentially unaware of his surroundings. Her heart in her throat, she waited him out and tried to prepare herself for what was to come.

He did not move for most of the night and she finally curled up with her head on his pillow and fell asleep. She didn't know how long she'd been dozing when she heard him begin to groan and gasp for breath. He was still kneeling on the meditation cushion but he seemed in distress now, doubled over in pain.

"Spock?" she asked, but he didn't seem to hear her. She got up and went to him, crouching down before him and inquiring softly again, "Spock?" She reached out to touch his shoulder.

Without any warning, he lunged at her, knocking her backwards onto the floor. Before she could react, he was on top of her, ripping her robe apart to expose her naked body underneath. The ferocity of his attack and the sound of tearing cloth spurred her into action. Terrified, she flailed wildly at him, yelling at him to stop, trying to get out from under him, trying to fend off the hands he was groping to get onto her face. His eyes were those of a stranger, filled with fire and madness, showing no recognition of her at all. Her bucking, kicking reaction only seemed to inflame him further. Pinning her down spread-eagle, he locked his fingertips onto pressure points around her eyes and temples, his grip like iron. She cried out and tried frantically to tear his hands off her face, but couldn't budge his enormous strength. And then—

—he slammed into her mind like a photon blast, like a comet impacting in her brain. She screamed in terror and pain and arched up beneath him, writhing and clawing as she tried vainly to break away from him. Rapidly, he overwhelmed her, consumed her, drowned her in the lust and madness that possessed him ... and she became he. They fused into one being, one mind. She stopped fighting him and her furies instead became those of mutual purpose, of _kali'farr_ , the bonding together of mind and body in fevered, frantic mating.

She became aware that his robe had come open during their struggle and they were flesh to flesh together, the searing heat of his body feeding the flames of her own. Suddenly all she could think of was getting him inside her, of elemental energies colliding in savage, sexual fusion. She ran her hands up inside his robe, over his ribs and onto the hard muscles of his back, digging in her nails and raking down to his hips, drawing blood, pulling him into position above her. Her blood burned with the fires of a thousand generations, lava flowed through her veins. Her heart throbbed with alien rhythms, red sand and red suns blasted into her soul, scouring away anything but her primary purpose. Her heart was flame, her eyes were flame. They moved as one, thought as one, burned as one. Their need was one.

After that, she knew nothing but the all-encompassing, frenetic urgency of his body atop hers, of the fire within her brain, of the insatiable hunger she felt from him, and of the volcanic crucible melting and forging their bodies together, again and again and again.

* * *

Christine's first conscious thought was that she was lying on the floor. Her second thought was that she hurt ... badly and all over. She felt like she'd been worked over with a good hefty length of primasite tubing. And then she became aware that Spock was lying beside her, asleep, his head nestled against her shoulder and his arm draped across her waist. There were four long, angry scratches running down his cheek and she had the sneaking suspicion that, if she looked, she'd find green blood underneath her fingernails.

Still, his expression was remarkably peaceful and she also had the feeling that he hadn't slept like that in a very long time. Silently, unmoving, she lay watching him, taking the rare opportunity to study his features in detail and up close, composed in the open, unstructured tranquility of sleep. His lips were parted slightly and she could feel his easy breath against her bare shoulder. Lying against his cheeks, his lashes were very dark, the same intense black-brown as his brows and hair, and she knew that, if his eyes were open, they would be only a shade or two lighter. His dark hair, usually immaculately combed down, was disarrayed and a bit unruly and, as she watched, he frowned ever-so-slightly in his sleep, disturbed by some dream that pursued him.

Christine bit her lip, realizing that, no matter the circumstances that had brought them together, this was the dream she had held for so long. Gentle and vulnerable and snuggled against her in sleep, lying helpless in her arms following a night of unparalleled passion ... this was how she'd longed to have him. The scenario wasn't exactly as she'd imagined it, for she had no recall of what had transpired between them or even how much time had passed, but this moment was hers.

His slim, upswept eyebrows twitched again and she reached up to trace the line of the nearest one with her fingertips, smoothing the dark hairs as she did so. Instantly, his eyes flew open and he jerked away, staring at her in amazement. For that instant, there was no recognition, and then he caught his breath and he was himself again.

"Christine..." he said in a hoarse voice. Recollection came to him and he looked distressed. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

"I'm all right," she assured him. "I feel like I've been hit by a cargo carrier, but I'm all right. How are you?"

His expression became introspective for a few seconds, then he wet his lips and sighed. "The blood fever has gone. The _pon farr_ has ended."

Abruptly he became aware of their state of dress ... or lack thereof. They both still wore their robes, but it was obvious that any parts that had gotten in the way had been zealously dealt with. Embarrassed, Spock got up, turned his back, and pulled the blue robe about himself, securing it, studiously avoiding looking in her direction.

Christine was less bothered by exposed flesh than he was, but she still struggled up from her supine position, groaning as her back muscles objected, and reached to gather the long white garment around her. He turned back as she attempted to get up, wincing as battered joints and muscles protested the movement. "I did injure you! I'm sorry, Christine. I should never have let you do this."

He bent down and grasped her hands, pulling her to her feet. The sudden movement made her head spin and he quickly caught her before she could fall. She instinctively steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders and he just as instinctively pulled her against him, slipping his hands around to her back.

They found themselves pressed very close together, almost nose-to-nose, and she looked up uncertainly into his eyes. He was watching her with a strange, longing expression on his face, as if he suddenly needed to detail and remember her every feature. She realized that he hadn't released her from his embrace and her heart began to pound harder. Indeed, his hands were slipping farther around her back and she felt hers moving to caress his shoulders. They were so close now that, as she lifted her face to his, she could feel his breath upon her mouth.

Softly, almost hesitantly, their lips came together in a long, searching kiss. Once begun, it deepened rapidly. Her arms slipped around his neck and he crushed her harder against him. Lips parted and tongues parried tentatively, and last night's fire began to reassert itself as their bodies responded to each other in remembered passion. The last embers of _plak tow_ began to glow with incipient flame as he kissed her mouth, her jawline, her throat. And she became very aware that, underneath their tattered robes, neither wore anything at all. Without conscious thought, her body answered his body's summons, its demands, and she slid one leg up his in open encouragement, ready to pick up where they had left off.

Abruptly, he broke away and stepped back from her, keeping her at arm's length, breathing hard and obviously struggling with himself. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I am still not myself. Please forgive me."

"Spock..." she said softly, careful not to touch him. "Don't apologize. Don't ever apologize to me. I'm sorry I let us get carried away like that." But she herself was shaken by the step they had almost taken here. For, although last night's passion had consisted of violent, almost mindless sex between crazed, lust-filled strangers, this had been entirely different. She had felt it in him, in his lips — a tender unguarded declaration of his emotions, a cautious questing into her feelings, a first foray by a still sexually aroused man who did not yet realize how quickly or powerfully he could initiate a response from a sexually aroused woman.

She was breathing just as hard as he was and she managed a little laugh. "I don't think you realize what you do to me, Spock. Ooh!" She shivered involuntarily. "I think I need a cold shower now."

"A cold shower?" he repeated. "Wouldn't you find being drenched with cold water rather a shock?"

"That's the idea!" She laughed again and got more control of herself. "I think my main concern should be that we accomplished our purpose last night and that you're all right. Now, why don't you go into the bathroom and clean up a bit? You'll feel better and I'll feel better by then, too. When was the last time you ate? Okay, while you're in there, I'll order you some breakfast, then I'll have a turn. And I want to treat those claw marks I left on your face."

Startled, he brought his fingertips up to his cheek and then stared in disbelief at them when they came away wet with bright green fluid. "I didn't realize that happened," he stammered.

She chuckled. "Don't be surprised if you find more that I need to tend to," she said. "If the way I'm bruised is any indication, I'd say we both had a pretty wild and crazy night!"

* * *

Completely mortified by the whole incident, Spock avoided her for two weeks. In fact, at first he found it difficult to even appear on the bridge for his duty shift, but with rigorous self‑discipline, he did so and acted as if nothing had happened. After a while, he came to realize that, as far as the crew was concerned, nothing _had._ No one but Kirk and Christine had a clue of the recent event in his life and they wouldn't breathe a word even if subjected to Cardassian nerve torture. Gradually, he regained his equilibrium and his life returned to the way it had always been.

Except for one thing... He simply could not forget the look of pure love that had been on Christine's face when he had awakened beside her on the floor of his cabin. Her selflessness and the extraordinary sacrifice of what she had done for him, mentally, physically and spiritually, left him reeling emotionally. _Pon farr_ was bad enough on Vulcans. It could have proved fatal to a human. And yet she had willingly undergone the ordeal and come out of it absolutely suffused with love for him. It wasn't infatuation or lust. The lingering threads of the mind meld convinced him of that. She truly loved him, with all her heart and soul.

He thought back over the years that they had served together. Her devotion had amused him at times, irritated him at others. And, oddly, there were times when he actually looked forward to seeing her, when he enjoyed her company and missed her when she was gone. Now, in their second long-term assignment together, with her now in the position of ship's surgeon, he'd had even more opportunity to get to know her. He'd found her strong, intelligent, dedicated, and with a new maturity in her position that allowed her to stand toe-to-toe with a Vulcan in the throes of _pon farr_ and propose something so crazy that he would never have given it credence otherwise. She had allowed herself to be attacked and virtually raped in his madness in order to save his life. And had come out of it with love and compassion shining in her eyes, still comforting _him_ with no apparent thought to herself.

Their kiss disturbed him as well, because _he_ had kissed _her._ And he'd enjoyed it. Immensely. Enjoyed the feel of her in his arms, warm and soft and responding enthusiastically. He'd wanted her in that moment, wanted her in a way that had nothing to do with _pon farr_. If he hadn't stopped things when he did, in another minute he would have scooped her up and carried her to his bed and made love to her with a passion nearly equaling the blood fever.

Because there was something that she didn't know. Near the end, as the _plak tow_ was waning, he had been aware of what he was doing. When he'd suddenly come to himself and realized that she was beneath him on the floor, lost in the shattering passions of their mating, her legs wrapped around his hips and her nails biting deep into the muscles of his back, her eyes closed in ecstasy and her breath hissing out between clenched teeth to the cadence of his body's emphatic movements. And there was no way he could stop, no way that he could hold back the powerful instincts and actions that gripped him. Nor did he want to. The blood fever still held him in its grasp and he had no choice, no desire, to do anything but clutch her hard against him and finish.

It was like a nova, like a sun exploding in his soul. And it excited him in a way he'd never felt before. He wanted more of that feeling, wanted again to feel the heat of her body against his and the fire of union with her. And that frightened him nearly out of his wits because he intended to keep _that_ part of him, the savage, emotional beast, tightly leashed lest he hurt her again.

His conduct and his feelings shamed him. His emotional control had slipped badly during the _pon farr_ and he had nearly committed an act that was completely contrary to his normal behavior and to proper Starfleet protocol among officers. It was just that he couldn't seem to get the taste, the feel, the scent of her out of his mind. This was all very unnerving and disturbing. He must work diligently to regain his customary control.

Amazed, confused, in emotional turmoil, he decided that the problem needed further analysis. Never a man to reach a hasty conclusion, Spock filed it away for processing and went about his duties. It didn't occur to him to wonder if Christine was faring any better than he, emotionally.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Earth Standard Date: 2276_ **

**_Terra, Sol System, parking orbit near Space Dock_ **

****

_Personal log. Stardate: 2276.2. Dr. Christine Chapel recording. This will be my final entry into the log of this voyage. It's been a long five years and I'm glad to be back home. I haven't yet received my new orders from Starfleet, whether I'm to stay with the ship, be assigned to another, or work groundside for a while. Frankly, the idea of staying in one place has begun to appeal to me more and more. I've been in space for ten years now and I'm ready to feel some dirt under my feet. I've been fielding some offers lately. The one that appeals to me most is the one from Fleet Hospital in San Francisco. It's a research position, working with exotic diseases. But there are some other tempting ones. The Mayo Clinic has dangled a choice residency in front of me that is very interesting, but I just wonder — could I be happy living in Minnesota? The snow gets pretty deep up there! And Dr. McCoy even made a remark in passing in one of his letters about going into private practice again and needing a partner. Hmm... I'll have to think about_ that _. In any case, I'll have to wait and see what Starfleet wants me to do. Then I'll see where life takes me..._

Back in Earth orbit, the _Enterprise_ was standing down from this second five-year mission. Most of the crew had already departed, gone on extended leave while the ship was being prepared to go into dry dock for six months of refit and reprovisioning. _Enterprise_ had logged more star hours than any other ship in the Fleet and headquarters felt it was time to semi-retire her and use her as a training vessel for Academy cadets.

It was a busy time for the senior officers, particularly the ship's exec. As First Officer, Spock had dozens of things on his agenda every day — making sure that orders for every crewmember were cut and approved, meeting with and receiving final reports from the heads of every section on the ship, arranging with Space Dock for a berth and the schedule for the ship's refit, overseeing the unloading of scientific specimens and downloading of data from the ship's computer banks, handling the removal of ship's ordnance and weapons — in general, coordinating the hundreds of things that were involved in dismantling a five-year-old, self-contained community.

Captain Kirk didn't interfere with his first officer's work. Of course, he had a million things to attend as well, but supervising Spock wasn't one of them. He knew that every evening in their regular meeting, Spock would have a detailed report ready for him of everything that had occurred that day. Kirk never gave it more than a cursory glance as he initialed it. His theory was that a captain should trust his people to do their jobs and not worry about the things they were assigned to handle. The chain of command worked very well — the crew went to the chiefs, the chiefs went to the department heads, the department heads went to Spock, and, if there was still a problem, Spock took it to the Captain.

But now things were winding down. The ship was nearly empty of people and ship's maintenance was in the process of stripping down the crew quarters of bedding and toiletries, sending them to cleaning and storage. As decks were processed and finished, they went into low‑light mode, life support still on but all other functions shut down or reduced. It gave the ship a lonely, deserted feel.

Finally, only Deck 5 — officer's country — remained occupied, and that not for long. Besides the Starfleet maintenance crew that was preparing the ship to go into dry dock, only the senior officers were still aboard and they were also getting ready to depart for their long furloughs. Somewhere in all their duties, they had found time to think about their plans for their six month leaves.

The officers took all their meals together now and the gatherings became informal meetings as well, where both business and personal plans were discussed. On one of their final evenings together, as they talked over coffee following the meal, and Kirk turned to his chief engineer.

"So, Scotty, where are you off to?"

"Utopia Planitia," the engineer answered. "I've got a chance to work with th' designers there on the new Ambassador class ship. It's a real opportunity to get to put yer two credits' in on a ship that's still on th' drawing board."

"How about you, Uhura?"

"Oh, I'm going home for a while," she said. "I haven't been back to Mombasa in way too many years. I've got a whole bunch of nieces and nephews that I've never seen and I just want to relax on the beach and soak up rays."

Kirk chuckled. "Why don't I totally believe that story?"

"Oh, all right," Uhura smiled back at him. "You know me too well. I also plan to work on my book on comparative language studies while I'm lying out there on the sand."

"That sounds more plausible," the Captain acknowledged. "Spock?"

"Vulcan," the first officer answered, leaning comfortably back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest. "I have decided to return to the Science Academy and do research in interspatial rift phenomena."

"What's _that?_ " Christine asked, sipping her coffee.

"Wormholes."

Kirk gave him a pained look and inquired, "Good grief, Spock, why don't you go someplace where you can enjoy yourself?"

Spock stared back with lifted eyebrows and responded, "Captain, I _will_ be enjoying myself."

"That figures," Scotty commented, rolling his eyes.

They all laughed, except Spock, of course, who merely sighed elaborately. "And, you, Captain? What are your plans?"

Kirk grinned. "I've got an uncle who has a ranch in Idaho. He says there's a stream up there in the mountains that has the biggest, fighting-est rainbows in North America."

"Rainbows, Captain?"

"Trout, Mr. Spock. Fish."

The Vulcan put on his I-will-never-understand-humans expression and gazed patiently at his commanding officer. "Fish, Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. Spock. I'm going fishing. It's an old, honorable way to spend leisure time."

"And what do you plan to do with these fish, sir?"

"Oh, catch them and release them mostly. I might bring home a few for the frying pan."

The first officer didn't respond for a minute, then shook his head. "Totally illogical," he finally commented.

His friends laughed again and Kirk looked over at Dr. Chapel. "What are your plans, Christine?"

She glanced down at her coffee cup and absently swirled her spoon around in it. "Well, Captain, I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell everyone. I've decided to take that research position at Fleet Hospital. I'm staying on Earth."

There was an immediate babble of voices around the table as her fellow officers spoke up to protest or congratulate her. But one voice was missing and she looked up to see Spock gazing at her with what she could only call a dismayed expression. In fact, a number of emotions flickered across his face before his mask slid into place. He had looked shocked, saddened, even a little lost at her announcement. And, for the rest of the evening, even though his face was placid and reserved, that same expression lurked in the background, filling his eyes whenever he looked at her.

* * *

McCoy had come "upstairs" the next day to visit and congratulate her, giving her all sorts of unsolicited advice until she had finally good-naturedly ordered him out of her sick bay. He had laughed heartily and gone off with Kirk to take a final turn around the ship before they left it. Kirk had invited his old comrade to go fishing with him and the doctor had eagerly accepted, and they had disappeared down the corridor avidly discussing rods and reels and the best way to tie a fly.

Christine shook her head and returned to completing her wrap-up report to Starfleet. A few moments later, she heard the office door hiss open and looked up to find Spock standing there with a thoughtful expression on his face, apparently waiting for her to notice him. Ever since the terribly intimate night they had shared two years before, he had been very wary around her, as if afraid that they had started something they might not want to finish. He treated her with courtesy at all times, courtliness even, but there was a barrier between them that he was extremely careful to maintain. She didn't press him, understanding what the night of blood fever had done to him. But lately, she had caught him watching her in an introspective way. If she approached him, he would rapidly back off and the barrier would go up. Until the next time she happened to look up and find his gaze upon her and the serious, meditative expression in his eyes once more.

It was there now, but, mindful of the carefully neutral stance he had maintained toward her, she put on her most professional demeanor and asked, "What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?"

"I wonder if I might talk with you ... Christine?" he asked in a soft voice, his expression pensive.

She blinked at the use of her given name and changed gears mentally. "Yes, of course. Come in and sit down." She indicated the chair facing her desk, where she usually saw patients.

He did so, leaning his elbows on the chair arms and folding his fingers together in a gesture she knew so well. He didn't meet her eyes. "To begin," he said, "I wanted to apologize for my behavior to you these past several months. The _kali'farr_ that we underwent left me unprepared for the ... emotions that I experienced afterwards."

"I see," she answered, not really sure if she "saw" at all.

"I have had opportunity to re-evaluate a good deal of my life during this mission and I ultimately realized that I have been denying an essential part of myself. In fact, I realized that I have spent my entire life denying that part of myself."

"Your human half," she guessed intuitively.

"Yes," he answered, finally bringing his gaze up to look directly at her. She was struck again by what a warm brown his eyes were. She had always loved looking into them. Depending on the light, they could be as rich as buttered toffee or as dark and hard as obsidian.

He leaned forward and brought his folded hands down onto her desktop. "You always saw that part of me and you always tried to reach it. I blocked you continually because I could not deal with ... the emotions that I knew I must keep in check."

She was silent for a few seconds and her heart began to pound a little harder as she guessed the direction this conversation might be taking. "What is it you're trying to tell me, Spock?"

"That I know I hurt you deeply following the _kali'farr_ by shutting you out."

She sighed. "I had a foolish, girlish idea that I might mean something to you after what we shared. I suppose I was hoping that ... that ... well, it was immature, romantic nonsense on my part." The old wound had opened again deep inside her, the wound that she had thought long ago and fully healed. The wound that she had spent the past two years painfully closing in her soul.

He looked down again. "I'm sorry, Christine."

"And what is it you want now?" Anger was beginning to loom with the hurt. "Are you here to try to make amends for that? If so, it's a little too late. About two years too late!"

He brought his gaze up again. "Christine, I understand how you feel—"

"No! No, you _don't_ understand how I feel!" She felt tears threatening and she refused to let him see that. She got up and walked to the other side of her office and stood with her back to him, peering out of the viewport at Earth spread beneath them like a wide blue blanket. "You've spent your whole life _not_ feeling. I tried to feel ... to feel enough for both of us ... and it only got me blocked out while you lived your own life."

She heard him get up and felt his presence behind her but refused to turn. If she turned, she'd have to look into his eyes again, have to acknowledge what his nearness still did to her.

"I can only say again how much I regret my actions toward you." His voice was soft and full of contrition. "I never told you what ... your actions meant to me. I have thought about it ... and you ... quite a lot since then. I have thought about the times we have shared, good and bad, and what they would have been like had you not been there. And, after your announcement yesterday, I spent last night thinking about a future without you. I got a foretaste of that during the past two years when I purposely distanced myself from you. Or tried to. Christine, I have served aboard the _Enterprise_ for over twenty years and have experienced many worlds and situations. But, in all that time, I have never met anyone who affected me as you do."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Spock ..."

"I want our lives to be together again."

"Spock ... Spock, I can't take the chance of being hurt again. I couldn't bear it."

"Christine..." He took her shoulders and turned her toward him. "Christine, would you allow me to touch your mind? I can prove to you that you wouldn't have to be afraid of that ever happening." The request startled her badly. She had had nightmares for weeks following the _pon farr_ , nightmares of being raped and then going mad in an orgy of mating. She truly hadn't been prepared for what a Vulcan mind meld would be like. He saw and understood her fear. "It won't be like before," he promised. "I have full control of myself."

At last, a softening in her stance gave her consent and he reached to gently touch her face with the fingertips of his right hand. Gazing deeply into her blue eyes, he held her entranced. And then she felt his presence inside her mind, touching her soul. Not invasively this time, but lovingly, caressingly, a guarded probing into her psyche, taking extreme care, a feather-weight stroking until she began to feel more confident and relaxed ... and then her mind was flooded with a warmth and desire that nearly overwhelmed her. She gasped at the sensation of it and quivered as an almost‑orgasmic chill swept over her. She felt wrapped in a blanket of care, felt his strength surrounding her and protecting her, felt other emotions that she wasn't quite ready to identify and embrace.

She sagged against him and stared at him in amazement, and then tears did come. As she moved to slide her arms around him and bury her face in the front of his shirt, he released her from the mind meld and she was aware that his arms had slipped around her, too. But the warmth and longing stayed with her.

"Spock, why did you wait so long to let me know?" she asked against his chest.

"Because I was so unsettled by what we experienced together that it took me a very long time to assimilate it and realize what a fool I have been," he replied. "I finally understood that I need you in my life to make it complete."

She didn't lift her head from its place against his shirt. Underneath she could hear the strange rhythm of his heartbeat. "But how would I be in your life, Spock? I'm staying on Earth and you're returning to Vulcan."

"No." He lifted her face with his fingertips so that she looked up at him. "I've already spoken to Starfleet Headquarters. I've been assigned to the Academy as an instructor. I'll be training cadets on Earth. And, since you operate out of the surgeon general's office there, we could make San Francisco our home base. We _will_ be apart in some cases. That's inevitable. But, our hearts and minds will be together."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It's as simple as we want it to be." His gaze intensified and he held her face gently between his hands. "Christine ... will you bond with me? Consent to the joining of our minds and our lives and to being my wife?"

She didn't answer immediately, instead searching his eyes for answers to questions piling up within her. In truth, she had loved him for a decade, but was now consumed with fears and doubts. He felt the turmoil within her and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"There will be many issues to discuss and work out. Compromises to be made. Plans to talk about. I realize that. But, Christine, I _do_ want you. I shall be empty without you."

A tear slid down her cheek and he absently brushed it away. She closed her eyes as her thoughts whirled back over her life. She had met him when she'd come aboard the _Enterprise_ shortly before the Psi 2000 madness had overtaken them and she'd declared her love openly for him. Then finding her long-lost fiancé, Roger Korby, and realizing that the mechanical thing he'd become was a travesty and a lie ... that had nearly crushed her soul. It had only been Spock's presence that had made it bearable, his subtle support and quiet caring that had made her realize she had long ago laid Roger to rest in her heart. The next four years they served together had forged a bond of sorts between them as friends and colleagues ... and something else that Spock seemed determined to deny.

As the ship's first five year mission drew to an end, he grew more and more restive, searching for something he could not locate. Back in space dock above Earth, the crew had thrown a massive party to celebrate their mission and to say goodbye as many of them moved on to new assignments. Christine didn't see Spock at the party, which didn't really surprise her, but, when she went to his quarters to bid him farewell, she was devastated to find his cabin bare, empty. Everything that made it his was gone — the drapes, the firepot, the Vulcan sculpture, his lyre... It was an impersonal, soulless room again.

She knelt in the middle of it and sobbed.

She learned that he had resigned from Starfleet and returned to Vulcan on the first ship heading in that direction. After a while, she mentally wished him well. Perhaps he would find there what he was searching for.

She had gone back into medical practice and research. The next few years had been full — a residency on Starbase 12, being briefly assigned to the _Intrepid II_ , and then the dream assignment — chief medical officer on the _Enterprise_ under Captain Decker. Then came the V'ger mission and suddenly and unexpectedly Spock was there again. She had to stop herself from leaping into his arms.

But it was a strange Spock, distant and cold. So very ... _Vulcan_. She swallowed her disappointment and wrapped herself in professionalism and functioned. It was only after his attempted mind meld with the V'ger entity that he'd softened and become more his old self.

Then the second five-year voyage in which they'd been assigned to work together again. It had been as eventful as the first one and she had many opportunities to get to know him better. He was as reserved as always, of course, but there had been moments of truth and introspection when she had seen a glimpse of the man within the role he presented to the world ... the carefully concealed wry sense of humor, the rare flashes of anger, the rock-hard commanding officer, the sensitive maker of music, the brilliant scientist... They were all part of this very special man who now stood before her awaiting her answer.

She looked back up at him. His expression was expectant, searching. Somewhere inside, a little voice sighed and thought, _Chapel, you love him and you know it. And he's coming as close as he can to telling you he loves_ you _. Maybe this won't work, but you'll never forgive yourself if you let him out of your life again. Because this time, he won't come back._

She smiled and again a tear escaped through her lashes. "Spock, you honor me beyond all words. Yes, I will be most pleased to bond with you."

He tried to keep his expression placid, but relief and happiness shown through anyway. Still holding her face between his hands, he finally leaned down to press his forehead against hers in a gesture of affection. She wouldn't let him get away with just that, however, and lifted her face to his in a long and meaningful kiss.

In the middle of their embrace, they suddenly heard the door to Christine's office _snick_ open and McCoy's voice announcing, "Forgot my—"

They sprang apart in shock and whirled to find the doctor staring in disbelief at them. Then, one eyebrow lifted in a wry, knowing expression and he said drily, "It's about damn time, Spock. You should have married her ten years ago." And with that, he picked up the forgotten instrument from the desk, gave them a profound look and exited without further comment.

Looking back at the Vulcan, Christine burst into laughter at his dazed expression. "I'm afraid you're going to have a lot of _that_ to look forward to," she said. "Come on. Let's get something to eat. We have a _lot_ of things to sort out..."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Earth Standard Date: 2276_ **

**_Terra, Sol System, parking orbit near Space Dock_ **

****

They retired to Christine's cabin where they could talk in privacy and she ordered food and drink for both of them. With deliberation, she removed two bowls of _plomeek_ soup from the replicator and set the tray on the table, then prepared _hiralin_ tea for him and coffee for herself.

"Do you remember the first time I made _plomeek_ for you, Spock?" she asked as she seated herself.

He was staring at the bowl of rich, red broth and looked up at her, an ironic expression touching his face. "Indeed. I believe I threw you and it bodily out of my cabin."

"Not a very nice way to treat your future wife."

He raised an eyebrow. "I remember telling Jim later that it was undignified for a woman to play servant to a man who was not hers." He smiled. "Perhaps you knew something I did not."

She leaned forward and slipped her hand into his. "I was always yours, Spock. You were just too stubborn to realize it."

He returned her smile and squeezed her hand gently, then released it and picked up his spoon, dipping into the thick soup. She likewise turned her attention to her meal and they ate in silence for a few moments, each gathering their thoughts.

"I would like to return to Vulcan and inform my parents in person," he said at last. "My mother will be delighted, I'm sure, but my father may offer some resistance."

"Do you need their consent?" she inquired.

"No, nothing like that," he answered, stirring his soup thoughtfully. "I am well into my majority now and my inheritance has long since been in my name. It is merely a courtesy to them." He ate a spoonful of soup and then commented, "You are, by the way, about to join quite a wealthy and influential family on Vulcan. I'm not sure you realize that."

"I knew your father was an ambassador, but I never realized your family was well off."

He gazed at her and his expression was amused. "They are a bit more than ... 'well off', Christine. My family has been one of the ruling dynasties of Vulcan since time immemorial. Surak is a direct ancestor of mine. And T'Pau is my great-grandmother."

Christine put down her spoon and sat back in her chair with a stunned expression. "Good God, Spock! Do you mean to say that you're a Vulcan prince?"

"No, of course not. Don't be absurd." He set down his spoon as well and rested his elbows on the tabletop, steepling his fingers together. "I am a very minor relation. But a relation, nonetheless, and, as my wife, you will be accorded the same rank and privileges within our family. You shall hold my name and my property."

Christine looked at him with an amused expression and said, "Okay, Spock, I've got to know. What _is_ your name? Your _full_ name."

He mirrored her expression of slightly embarrassed mirth and replied, "I don't think you'll be able to pronounce it."

"Give!" she ordered.

He smiled and tilted his head slightly. "Spock cha'Sarek hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch." The last part sounded like he'd been clearing his throat. It had been full of glottal clicks and vowel sounds that had never been part of any human language.

"Oh, my God! And _I_ will be ..."

"Christine aduna'Spock hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch."

She hid her face in her hands in mock horror. "No! No! Tell me it's not true!" When she finally looked up, she was laughing so hard tears were beginning to squeeze out between her lashes. "I can't even get halfway through that! _What_ does all that mean?!"

"My name means 'Spock, son of Sarek, of the House of the Eye of Fire'. It is our clan name."

"And mine means 'Christine, wife of Spock', etc., etc.?"

"Precisely." He was still smiling, caught up in her humor. "Of course, if you start adding in titles and all the family lineages and cross-bondings with other great Houses, it grows to a truly staggering length. I prefer to keep it short and simple."

She shook her head and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Spock. I will marry you and live wherever you think we should, but I hereby declare that I'm keeping my own name!"

"That is probably wise."

"But why didn't you say anything about this before? Your family status, I mean. You could have been living in luxury but you chose to live a very spartan life in Starfleet."

"There was no reason to say anything about it before," he answered. "Luxury is a very different concept to a Vulcan, Christine. We live very comfortably, as you will see, but there is no need for ostentatious display. Such a thing would be illogical."

"Oh, of course," she retorted. "How illogical of me not to realize that."

Spock regarded her curiously. "That was sarcasm, was it not?"

"Yes, Spock, that was sarcasm." She smiled. "Forgive me. We both are going to have to compromise if we're going make this work."

"Indubitably."

She chuckled and stretched out her hand to him. He took it and held it across the tabletop. "Okay," she said, "on Vulcan, we will live as your family rank dictates and I will be the proper Vulcan wife, keeping silent in public and walking two steps behind you and all that. But don't expect that on Earth or in Starfleet settings."

"I would never ask you to carry out such a role off Vulcan, Christine," he assured her. "In fact, when we are anywhere _other_ than Vulcan, we will undoubtedly live our lives very much as we have been. I believe we are both quite comfortable in our Starfleet careers and will merely be joining our lives together and merging those careers to our mutual advantage."

"Yes. And here's something else I expect, Spock." She gazed at him intently and grew serious. "No matter where we live, inside the privacy of our bedroom, when it's just the two of us, there will be no barriers or pretenses between us. Things that are said and done and experienced within those walls will stay there. I'll expect emotional honesty from you, Spock. If you are troubled about something, tell me there. If there are parts of your Vulcan heritage that I don't understand, explain it to me there. Likewise, if I feel the need to be held and comforted, or want to be made love to, or just want to talk openly and honestly with you, I will feel free to do it there. Our bedroom will be a sanctuary for both of us. Is that agreed?"

He was silent for a moment, gazing deeply into her eyes, then he nodded once and answered, his voice soft and gruff, "Yes. It is agreed. But, realize that it will work both ways, Christine. There will be times when I will require my own sanctuary, my own privacy. When I may be experiencing something uniquely Vulcan that I cannot fully explain to you. At those times, I will expect you to allow me the solitude I require without demanding explanation or attempting to interfere."

"All right," she granted him and smiled. "I think we understand each other well, Spock." She lowered her eyes and hesitated before she spoke again. "There's one other thing we need to discuss, Spock... Children."

His eyebrows lifted. "Indeed?"

"Yes..." She looked back up at him, her blue eyes uncertain. "Shall we have children?"

He blinked in surprise and cleared his throat. "I... I don't know. Do _you_ want children, Christine? I mean ..."

"Well, if _you_ want children," she faltered.

"I suppose I always ... assumed that one day I ... uh ... would ..." He ran out of words and stared at her as if hoping she could finish his statement.

The tension broke when Christine suddenly leaned back and laughed. "Oh, Spock, let's start this topic again!" She smiled and leaned forward to gaze adoringly at him. "I will gladly bear your children, should we ever be blessed in that way. I'm only in my 30's. For a human, that still gives me plenty of time to become a mother."

"I had never actually given the subject much thought," he admitted, looking at her quizzically. "But children _are_ to be expected of a marriage. Indeed, now that I consider it, a child of our marriage _would_ be a most welcome occurrence."

"I'll do my best," she promised.

"And I, mine."

"Um ... that leads me to a rather delicate area," she admitted, dipping her gaze again. "As a doctor, I probably shouldn't have to ask this, but ... um ... I don't know much about ... uh ... marital relations between Vulcans." She was getting decidedly pink about her cheeks.

He considered her blushing visage and wondered if his color wasn't heightening a bit as well. He cleared his throat again. "I see.   Um ... what ... what is it you need to know, Christine?"

"Well, I know about _pon farr_ but ... uh ... do Vulcans only mate at that time?"

"Oh, I see your concern. No, Christine, sexual relations within a marriage are much as they are in human society. A Vulcan _does_ experience _pon farr_ every seven years at which time he _must_ mate, but in the meantime, there is nothing to prevent sexual bonding on a more frequent ... uh ... basis ..."

"Spock..." She could see his discomfiture and smiled. "I know it embarrasses you to talk about it. You've answered my question. That's all I need to know for now."

He didn't answer but accepted her closure of the subject. Shyly, she peered up at him and asked, "Spock ... would you ... uh ... would you mind meld with me again? I'd like to try it once more."

"Indeed? Very well." This time, instead of touching her face, he held out his hand, first two fingers extended, and she followed his example, pressing her fingers against his. Almost immediately, the mindlink reestablished itself and she closed her eyes as the unexpected joy of intertwining her heart and soul with him swept over her once more.

They were interrupted when the intercom whistled. "Sick bay to Dr. Chapel."

She sighed in resignation. "Chapel here."

"Emergency, Doctor. You're needed in sick bay. There's been an accident in Engineering. Thompkins slipped going down an access ramp and broke his hip."

"Acknowledged. On my way. Chapel out." She shut off the intercom and looked over at Spock, who had gently withdrawn the meld when the intercom sounded. She sighed again and rose from the table. "Well, back to work."

Spock stood as well and came around the table to her. "I, too, must return to my duties. I have an appointment with Commodore Gregson at Starfleet Academy shortly to discuss my assignment there this fall. There is much yet to do to prepare for the new class of midshipmen."

"Will you be coming back onboard?"

"Yes, although I doubt that I shall be finished with my meeting until late this evening. I still have quarters here on the ship. I do not yet have accommodations in San Francisco. That is another matter to which I must attend."

"To which _we_ must attend, Spock," she corrected him gently. "We'll go apartment hunting together."

"Agreed. And now you should go to sick bay and attend to the wounded crewman," he suggested.

"I will ... as soon as you kiss me goodbye." Her eyes were twinkling mischievously.

Spock's eyebrows lifted again. "Indeed? Why?"

"Because I love you and because we're engaged to be married!" she retorted and pulled him down to her. He didn't resist and made it obvious that he had only been teasing her. She kissed him a second time and then made herself leave him to stride purposefully out the door in the direction of sick bay.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Earth Standard Date: 2277_ **

**_ShiKahr, Vulcan, 40 Eridani System_ **

****

They were bonded together on Vulcan in the ancient Place of Marriage and Challenge near the city of ShiKahr, when the seasons there cooled enough to allow the human guests to attend without suffering from the heat. Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy stood with Spock, while Christine's two younger sisters came out from Earth to escort her through the ritual. The guests included a wide range of Vulcan dignitaries and family members, Starfleet personnel, human relations of both Christine and Amanda who had made the journey from various sections of the Federation, and members of a few odd alien races who had diplomatic or friendship ties to the extended families of the bride and groom.

T'Pau officiated at their _kae'farr_ , the mind-bonding, though she was now extremely advanced in age and largely confined to her bed. But she had roused her thin, frail body to oversee the marriage of one of her favorite great-grandsons to his chosen bride, much though she would have preferred to see him settle down with a nice Vulcan girl. At least he was marrying, and she had to admit that she'd had the same reservations about Sarek's marriage to Amanda and that had lasted now for 47 years and had produced a fine son.

By tradition, the newlyweds retired immediately to a secluded residence on the grounds of the family estate where they were left strictly alone for 10 days, except for the discreet attendance by servants upon their needs. The _kunat shan hal lak_ , the newly-forged joining of minds and resulting mating, was powerful and, for those several days, they were so focused on one another that anything outside of themselves scarcely existed. Food seemed to appear magically and they ate when their bodies insisted that they have food, and then, that hunger satisfied, they fell back together in primeval fulfillment of their other needs.

At the end of the Joining Days, Spock awoke in the morning cool and realized that he could think of something besides Christine. It was not that he was _not_ thinking of her, because she filled his thoughts constantly, and he gazed on her sleeping form with satisfaction and devotion, believing her one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever beheld. But his mind had cleared and he could think and reason again.

Getting quietly out of bed, so as not to disturb her, he slipped on his long white robe and went out onto the terrace. The tiles felt cold to his feet but the sensation was a good one. On the terrace table, he found a mug of tea, steaming and extremely hot. Though he had not seen the servant place it there, he knew that his needs and wants were still being closely and efficiently met. He sipped the hot liquid in satisfaction, watching the sun begin to break over the distant purple mountains of his homeland. _Teresh'kah_ , silvery bird-like creatures, were twittering in the sparse trees overshading the terrace and he enjoyed their sound. The fresh morning scents brought back memories of his youth, of the freedom of roaming the hills with i'Chaya, his _sehlat_ , of testing himself in the mountains, of other rituals and ceremonies of the dynastic family. It felt good to be home again.

He went back into the bedchamber and noted that his wife was stirring. He also noted the mug of tea awaiting her on the bedside table and made himself a mental note to have an extra bonus added to their servants' accounts. He was extremely pleased with the way they'd cared for them during the Joining.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled as Christine slowly and sleepily opened her eyes. "Good morning," he greeted her. "How are you feeling?"

"Morning," she responded. "Is that _hiralin_? Can I have a sip?"

"You have your own there," he answered, nodding toward the table.

"Oh, so I do." She pushed herself into a more upright position against the pillows and reached for her own steaming mug. After a few sips, she sighed. "Oh, that's good tea. I think I'm beginning to wake up. Spock! I _am_ awake this morning! What's happened?"

"Only that the Joining Days have ended. We have our faculties back once more. And we can resume our roles in society."

"I'm sad that they're over."

"But we can regain them if we wish," he said softly. "Anytime we wish. The _kae'farr_ is permanent." So saying, he set down his mug of tea and shed the heavy woven robe, slipping back into bed beside her. In delight, she also set her tea aside and slid down into his warm embrace.

They kissed and he stroked her face with his fingertips, evoking the mindlink that would always be there between them, wrapping her in desire. Their lovemaking was a glorious mixture of Vulcan and human techniques and they slept again for a while afterwards so that it was late morning when they finally awoke again.

This time they both got up and took turns in the bathing room. There was a water shower as well as a large tub for soaking and plunges. Both were luxury items and Christine noted that the furnishings were all well-appointed and tasteful. She was beginning to get some idea of what Spock meant about his family's wealth. She enjoyed both a shower and a soak and felt renewed and clean afterwards.

As Spock retired to his bath, Christine returned to the bedchamber to find the bed laid down with clean, fragrant linens and a fresh mug of tea waiting her on the table. And she was startled to find one of the Vulcan servants standing quietly in the shadows, hands folded in front of her. She didn't recall seeing anyone during the whole time she and Spock had been here.

"Hello," Christine said. "I'm sorry. I don't know your name."

"T'Pinda, my lady," the girl answered softly. "I am to attend you and help you dress."

Christine started to protest but then realized that she really didn't know what was appropriate here and consented to the girl's help. The dressing room closet proved to hold several outfits, all in her size, and she chose a light blue dress with flowing veils and soft matching slippers. T'Pinda showed her how the various parts of the dress wrapped and draped, then Christine sat before her mirrored dressing table as T'Pinda arranged her hair into a Vulcan style.

Partway through, Spock joined her. He was now dressed in a dark burgundy tunic and pants and wore the soft-soled shoes that were common here. He was followed by a younger Vulcan male, who retired back out of the way.

"This is Stokon, my valet," Spock introduced him. "Stokon, this is _T'Sai_ Christine, she who is my wife."

Stokon dipped his head politely. "My lady."

"Hello, Stokon. May I assume that you know T'Pinda?"

"Yes, my lady. We have attended you throughout the past days."

"Thank you. You both have been most efficient."

That seemed to please the servants, although their stoic manner didn't outwardly change. T'Pinda finished with Christine's hair and moved back to discreetly await her mistress' pleasure. Christine noted that Spock was now back in full Vulcan mode and he had also assumed the role of Vulcan husband.

"My wife, we are expected for mid-meal with my parents," he said formally. "If you are finished with your dressing, please accompany me."

"Yes, my husband," she answered and rose. He offered the first two fingers of his right hand and she responded by lightly touching them with her own. The link between them surged briefly and then settled into the quiet background purr that she was learning to expect of their bonding.

Together they left the Joining Residence and walked the footpath to the main estate. The route wove through an exotic garden, filled with strange flowers and plants, large humming insect-like creatures nosing about among the blossoms. Christine would have liked to examine the garden further, but Spock purposefully walked ahead and she dutifully followed behind him.

At the main residence, they were greeted by Spock's parents and he formally introduced her, although of course, they had met on many occasions before. But this was the first time she was there as his bonded mate. "My father, my mother ... I present Christine, she who is my wife."

"Daughter," Sarek acknowledged her and lifted his hand in salute.

"Husband's father," she responded and returned the greeting.

Amanda ignored the ritual and embraced her. "Christine, we are so happy to have you in our family."

Christine shot an alarmed glance at Spock, who, although remaining impassive, had raised a disapproving eyebrow at her. "Husband's mother," she answered a bit shakily.

"Oh, nonsense. Call me Amanda," the older woman retorted. "We're family here. There's no need for such formality."

"Wife, you know our customs—" Sarek began but Amanda cut him off.

"I said 'nonsense.' At home, I won't have it! Now, let's go in to dinner. I hope you like _caseer_ and _q'eemish,_ Christine." She slipped her hand through her new daughter-in-law's arm and led her into the dining room. Spock and Sarek exchanged defeated glances and followed.

* * *

After the meal, Amanda took Christine on a tour of the Residence. They had a smaller, less formal home in ShiKahr proper where they lived most of the time, but this was the estate residence of Sarek's family, lying in the hills outside of the city, on the slopes of Mount Seleya. As current Eldest Male and officially head of the House (although the frail old woman who resided elsewhere on the estate would have quickly made it clear who actually _ran_ things), Sarek had full use of the larger house whenever he wanted it.

It was a large, sprawling two-story home that reminded Christine at first of Hopi and Navaho adobe dwellings of Earth's American Southwest. That is, the walls were thick and elegantly plastered over into smooth, airy arches and veil-shrouded passages, the better to insulate the blazing daily heat and cold nights of Vulcan's desert climate. But from there, it veered off into something she couldn't pin down. The design and furnishings were completely alien and reflected a styling that was one-part Arabian Knights (which was as close as Christine could come to placing it) and two parts pure functionality. It was extremely beautiful, expressing both a delicacy and a strength that reinforced each other in superb detail. There were a number of paintings and sculptures displayed throughout the many rooms and Christine managed to identify several works that she had seen only in art books. They didn't look like they were copies.

Upstairs, Amanda briefly showed Christine the bedrooms and bathing chambers, not entering them but only indicating their designations and then moving on. She did, however, stop before one and announce, "And this was Spock's room."

Curious, Christine peered inside but of course there was nothing left of the small boy there. It was a purely nondescript bedroom now, used to accommodate overnight guests. Still, her mind's eye managed to see a dark-haired Vulcan child sitting cross-legged on the bed, pouring over a reader pad with rapt attention, and then gazing out the window with an expression of longing on his face.

Amanda was still smiling at her when Christine turned back to her mother-in-law, as if the older woman knew exactly what she was thinking. "I'll tell you about him someday," Amanda promised. "When he's not within earshot." Spock was downstairs discussing something with his father, but Christine had no doubt that he'd hear them if he took a mind to.

"Come, I want to show you a special place," Amanda urged and led her down to the end of the hall. The room there had a surprisingly Earth-style door on it and it opened silently as they stepped before it.

Christine nearly gasped as a wave of cool air flooded out onto her from within the room. "This is _my_ room," Amanda chuckled. "Long ago, when I first moved to Vulcan, I found that the heat and thin air were extremely hard to bear. So I had this room modified to Earth conditions. Sarek won't come near it. Says he can't breathe here and that the temperature is like an ice planet! I used it frequently to cool off and get enough oxygen in my lungs to function. Gradually, I became acclimated, though, and I haven't turned on the environmental controls in a long time. But I thought you might need it."

Christine was gulping in the relatively thick, moist atmosphere of the room. She hadn't realized how out of breath she'd been. Granted, she'd been taking injections for weeks and training herself in a climate-controlled room back at Starfleet Headquarters until she thought she could handle Vulcan's environment without trouble. But this was pure heaven!

"Amanda, you are a treasure!" she declared.

The two women embraced briefly then Amanda asked, "Would you like a drink? I keep a small amount of sherry here, too. Sarek, of course, believes that the intake of alcoholic spirits is totally illogical, but I sometimes find that a very small after-dinner glass is quite refreshing."

"I'd love one. Thanks."

They settled into high-backed easy chairs, old Earth style — overstuffed and very comfortable. "I really am so glad to have you," Amanda said. "It's been ages since I had a human woman to gab with. I have many Vulcan friends, of course, but the women are as bad as the men when it comes to gossip! I want to hear just _everything!_ "

Christine laughed and began to talk. She didn't know what would interest her mother-in-law but Amanda responded to news and asked questions, probed her opinion on various subjects, and displayed a lively and highly intelligent mind that was conversant in a multitude of topics. Christine asked questions, too, and learned more about Vulcan ways and customs than she'd ever known existed. She also learned about the family and recounted what Spock had told her so many weeks before.

Amanda laughed. "He said he was a 'minor relation'? Well, I don't doubt that. If Spock is anything, it's modest. Christine, my dear, if Vulcan had a throne, Spock would be sixteenth in line for it. That's the position T'Pau has held for the last 62 years — First Chair of the Ruling Council. It's an hereditary seat within our Clan. Of course, it is _extremely_ doubtful that he would ever come close enough to ever give it a second thought, but stranger things have happened in history. I mean, take Queen Victoria — do you know Earth history? Her father was one of fifteen children of England's King George III and, between them all, there was only one legitimate child to inherit the throne, and she died in childbirth at age 21. In a mad scramble to produce a legitimate heir, Victoria was one of only three children born and the older children died before they could come to the throne." She sipped her sherry. "So, anything's possible."

"You sound as if you _want_ him to rule Vulcan."

"Do I? Well, I suppose deep down, a mother always thinks of her child as a king. But Spock would be utterly horrified at the very idea. Oh, should the position pass to him, he'd take it — not because he wants it, but because he would be duty-bound to accept it — and he would serve the Vulcan people justly and wisely. But no ..." She shook her head. "I don't hold my breath for that day. The odds are astronomical."

"Good. Because I can't think of anything more awful! We're both scientists and we're very happy with the lives we've created. In fact, we are both due back on Earth within the month. Spock has classes beginning at the Academy and I'm beginning a new assignment at the Fleet Hospital as head of the Xenobiology Department."

"I'm glad you're both going back to Earth," Amanda said, then corrected her statement, "Oh, I don't mean that the way it sounds! I'll miss you both terribly! But Earth is good for Spock. He loosens up and doesn't go into his 'super-Vulcan' façade. He's always had that problem here. He had to be more Vulcan than any other Vulcan he knew to compensate for his 'bad blood'." She smiled knowingly at Christine.

"Yes, terrible thing, those human chromosomes," the doctor answered.

There was a soft tap at the door and Amanda keyed the entry button. As the doors slid open, Spock flinched back from the rush of cool air. He recovered himself quickly and addressed Christine. "My wife, it is time we return to our residence. You should rest in the heat of the day."

Christine leaned toward her mother-in-law and whispered, "I think that means he wants to go back to bed!"

Spock's eyebrows shot up and Amanda laughed in delight, and then quickly put on her stoic face as the two women left the room and stepped back into the Vulcan heat. Spock looked from one to the other in disapproval, then started down the hallway with Christine at his side.

"I heard what you said to my mother," he murmured to his wife.

"Good," she murmured back and had to stop herself from laughing out loud at the expression of slight alarm that he threw her way.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Earth Standard Date: 2277_ **

**_San Francisco, Terra, Sol System_ **

****

They settled into a spacious apartment on a hill overlooking the megalopolis of Greater San Francisco. Despite the urban sprawl and traffic of one of the major cities of 23rd century Earth, somehow the city was ageless. The Bay still sparkled in the westering sun, the fog still rolled in from the Pacific, and the city's symbol, the revered Golden Gate Bridge, was as eternal as the Pyramids. (Of course, natives knew full well that this Bridge was a replica, replacing the original which had been irretrievably damaged during the Big One of 2157, the long-predicted 8.3 earthquake on the San Andreas Fault.)

Spock took up his duties at Starfleet Academy, teaching Computer Theory and Applied Cybernetics of the Daystrom Duotronic Enhancer System in Starship Operation. His cadets walked into his class awed and starry-eyed at having the legendary Captain Spock as an instructor and left a bit later totally disabused of the notion that there would be any slack cut from their instructor. He saw all, heard all, and most of the time seemed to read their minds. As one of his students was overheard telling another, "Oh, Captain Spock's easy to please — all he wants is 100% perfection. Believe me, if he asks for a bucket of space, that's what he wants, and no excuses!"

In truth, he wasn't _that_ bad, having learned through the years that humans were flawed and allowance had to be made for the young, but that it was best to "put the fear of God" into them at first, as his long-time friend Admiral James Kirk advised, and then show them a softer side later on.

As for Christine, she settled in as head of Xenobiology at the Fleet Hospital and used her 10 years of starship experience to good advantage in the research of exotic diseases. It was rewarding work and she loved it.

And both she and Spock reveled in the quiet security of a ground-based home where they could go to bed at night and not have alarm klaxons blast them out of sleep during a Romulan attack or ship-board crisis. It had been too many years since either of them had known such a dull, boring, serene existence. They explored their adopted city, went camping in Yosemite, and once travelled down to Death Valley, where Spock declared that he _finally_ felt warm for the first time since they'd settled on Earth.

And, though Christine tried to get him go sailing with her, he steadfastly refused, stating that he found the idea of nothing but a thin shell of fibroplas standing between him and the ocean to be highly unsettling and a dubious way to "have fun". She couldn't get him to admit that he was simply afraid of water, though she _knew_ he could swim — it had been required at the Academy when he was a cadet — so she finally gave up on her idea of their ultimately taking a cruise up the coast to Alaska to watch the glaciers calve.

All in all, they settled into a quiet, routine lifestyle and the months passed by without incident.

* * *

One morning, about eight months after they were married, Christine got up, went to the bathroom, and threw up. _Oh, wonderful,_ she thought as she wiped her face with a cool wet cloth. _I've caught that bug that's been going around the office. Just what I need with all those quarterly reports on my desk!_

The next morning she repeated her performance and the morning after that. By then, she was beginning to suspect that it wasn't the flu. When she got to the office, she went down to the lab and gave herself a specific blood test.

As the expected chemical results began to display on the monitor, she started to smile and the smile grew wider and wider as the test finished up. There was no doubt about it. She was pregnant. _Yes!_ she exclaimed to herself and practically danced as joy exploded through her.

Spock was currently in the outer solar system, attempting to teach his cadets how to pilot a starship around a major planet without running into same. The last time she'd spoken to him via subspace, he looked as if he were developing a permanent migraine ... if Vulcans _had_ migraines. She gathered that one of his kids had very nearly taken out Io on a tight turn around Jupiter. In any case, he wasn't due home until the end of the week ... providing he survived this voyage!

She went back to her desk spinning out plans in her head on the most romantic way to tell him the news. Scarcely had she returned to her office, however, than her secretary beeped her and announced, "Subspace message coming in for you, Doctor. It's your husband."

"Put him through," she answered and sat down before the viewer. So much for romance.

Spock's face came on the screen, looking concerned. "Christine," he said without preamble. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Why, nothing's wrong," she replied. "Why did you think that?"

"I felt your surge of emotion. It was very strong."

She smiled with love and indulgence. "It was strong, Spock, because something wonderful has happened."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed. I have just discovered that, in about seven months' time, you're going to become a father."

The expression on his face was priceless. She had never seen him look so stunned. At last, he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Positive. I just did the blood test myself."

The announcement left him functionally speechless for a moment as he digested the news. Finally, he said, "I will make arrangements to have a shuttle dispatched and I will be home as soon as I can."

"Oh, Spock, you'll do no such thing! There's absolutely no need for that! Besides, I think you've _done_ your major part in this venture. Just relax and carry on as normal. I'm certainly going to." She could see that he was still skeptical of her advice and continued, "I am perfectly fine. Stop worrying about me. I'll make an appointment with one of the obstetricians and have a checkup in a couple of days."

"I'd like a Vulcan physician to see you as well. With our mixed blood, there could be complications."

"All right. I'll do that, too." She put her fingertips up to the viewscreen and whispered, "I love you, darling."

He put his fingertips against hers and there was real emotion in his voice as he answered in a soft, husky voice, " _Tch'alha, t'hy'la..._ " She knew what he was saying. He didn't have to translate.

"Oh, my love _..._ " She realized that she'd start crying if she didn't end this conversation soon.   "I can't wait to hold you again. See you in a few days. Be careful."

"You as well, my wife. Spock out."

The screen went dark. Christine slipped her hands down against her still flat abdomen, absolutely enraptured with the new life developing within her.

* * *

The fact of the matter was, however, that Christine was _not_ "perfectly fine." And as her pregnancy progressed, she became less and less so. The child she carried was one quarter Vulcan and it soon became obvious that her body was determinedly at war with the non-human elements growing within her. Christine's morning sickness developed into all-day nausea and finally she found that she could barely keep anything down. It became impossible to work and she took medical leave for the duration of her pregnancy.

Her obstetrician consulted with the Vulcan healer Spock had contacted and the two of them sought a way to bring the pregnancy full term. That a human could carry a Vulcan child was an established fact — Spock was living proof. But it was little use contacting the healer who had nursed Amanda through her difficult pregnancy so many years before — he was dead now and his protégés had never actually dealt with a human/Vulcan conception.

Spock was tortured beyond all reason, although he tried valiantly to behave normally for his students and colleagues. He refused all space assignments, however, afraid to venture too far away from Christine's vicinity. The strain was building perceptibly, with his patience becoming almost non-existent and his midshipmen frequently feeling his wrath. Nothing short of absolute, unstinting perfection would please him and the cadets spread the word that Captain Spock had now become Captain Bligh. They expected public flogging and keelhauling to start any day now.

It was finally Leonard McCoy who stepped in before the situation became explosive. He was semi-retired now, going along as ship's surgeon on cadet missions. Someone had to bandage the children's scraped knees and skinned elbows, after all. It was easy work and the rest of the time, when he was back at home on Earth, he could indulge in research, reading or fishing, as the mood struck him.

But after so many years of serving with Spock, he knew the Vulcan intimately and was a close enough friend that he didn't mind speaking plainly. He also loved Christine like a daughter and now he came to Spock and insisted that he accompany McCoy on a short trip in the sporty little ground speeder that the doctor had taken to driving. Spock, of course, put up an argument, but McCoy had long years of practice at getting his friend to comply with his wishes.

The doctor took them on a hair-raising, high speed ride down the coast from San Francisco, driving a great deal faster than the posted speed limit and gleefully taking curves as fast as the sportster could manage. When they finally found themselves on a secluded stretch of California beach, Spock silently thanked any deities who might be listening, Terran or otherwise, that they had made it alive.

For a time, they sat on the breakwater boulders, watching the waves roll in endlessly. Spock was as tense and silent as a coiled Arcturian striker-vine and it was obvious that he was only indulging McCoy because he knew the doctor would never let him rest otherwise. McCoy, on the other hand, made a great show of lounging back against the huge rocks and enjoying the scenery. Seagulls whirled and cried overhead, sandpipers skittered along the water's edge poking the sand with their sharp thin beaks, and far out to sea, a pair of gray whales breached and spouted before diving into the kelp beds again.

McCoy let Spock brood for a while then said, "Okay, Spock, I think you've stewed long enough. Let's talk about it."

"There is nothing to talk about, Dr. McCoy."

"The hell there isn't," the doctor retorted. "Spock, you're about to blow a gasket worryin' about Christine and the baby. You're not helping _her_ any and I'll be damned if I'll let you go on this way. Now, there's nobody here but us and the seagulls, so let's have it. As your doctor, I'm making that a medical order."

Spock remained silent, his arms folded across his chest as he looked out to sea, but he was breathing heavier now, and finally he closed his eyes and uttered miserably, "She's going to die."

The doctor moved a little closer to his friend. "Spock, she's not going to die. Yes, there are complications with the pregnancy, but Dr. Howard and Dr. T'Lann are two of the best in the business. I've consulted with both of them and I concur with the treatment she's receiving. What we _are_ going to do, though, is move her to Fleet Hospital where we can monitor her more closely. Her body is fighting the pregnancy, but the scans show that the baby is developing normally. It's going to be rough on Christine and we may have to take the baby early, but we're going to fight tooth and nail to get this little fellow into the world."

Spock swallowed and took a deep breath, regaining control. He continued his pointed vigil of watching the waves. "I should have foreseen this. I should never have allowed her to conceive this child."

"Hush!" the old doctor ordered roughly. "Don't you _ever_ let Christine hear you say anything like that! You thick-headed Vulcan — are you so dense that you can't see that Christine wants this baby more than life itself?"

Spock tightened his jaw and took another deep breath, but didn't say anything or look at the other man. McCoy gripped his upper arm and leaned closer. "Spock, is it that _you_ don't want this baby?"

Spock swung on him in shock and stared at him with an expression mingling horror and anger. "Life is sacred to a Vulcan, Doctor. You know that. And to suggest that I would reject my own child is ... is ..." He was at a loss for words.

"Okay, okay, Spock. I'm sorry. I know you're so worried about both of them that you're about to lose your mind."

The Vulcan's composure threatened to crumple and he quickly looked away from McCoy. "I can't bear to lose either one of them," he whispered, more to himself than to the doctor.

McCoy slid his arm around his friend's tight shoulders and gave them a companionable squeeze. "It's gonna be all right, Spock," he murmured as the Vulcan hung his head. "It's gonna be all right..."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Earth Standard Date: 2277_ **

**_San Francisco, Terra, Sol System_ **

****

They moved Christine to Obstetric Urgent Care the next day. She tried to remain cheerful and reassure Spock, but the gauntness of her face and the dark circles under her eyes eloquently expressed the degree of distress she was undergoing. She was now in her 20th week of pregnancy and the doctors were fighting to get her through as many more weeks as possible.

It was early August and the baby wasn't due until late November. The Academy was between semesters but classes were scheduled to start within the month. Spock took hardship leave and made arrangements for someone else to teach his classes. Then he installed himself at Christine's bedside and refused to leave except for short necessary absences.

As the days passed, she grew slowly weaker and sicker, but still managed a smile for him when she wasn't curled up in pain. They were feeding her intravenously now and her doctors tended to stand in worried little groups, conversing quietly among themselves. Slowly the days turned into weeks and every day ticked off the calendar was a small victory.

Crisis came late one afternoon in her 24th week. She had been experiencing more pain than usual and McCoy was in attendance, checking the monitors above the bed. He didn't like what he saw, either for Christine or the baby. Her blood pressure and blood oxygen level were alarmingly low and the baby's heartbeat was beginning to show an occasional flutter. Spock stood tensely to one side.

As a needle on the display dipped suddenly, an alarm went off on the monitor and Christine groaned. The baby's heartbeat skipped, caught and skipped again.

"That's it," McCoy declared and slapped the room intercom. "O.R., this is McCoy. Prepare for an emergency c-section stat. Call Dr. Howard and Dr. T'Lann and tell them Dr. Chapel is in trouble and I'm taking her to surgery right now. I'll meet them there. Get Dr. Bond in there for anesthesia and have the NICU standing by." He flicked that switch closed and punched another one. "Nurse, I need Dr. Chapel prepped for surgery stat. We're going in right now."

"Yes, Doctor. We're on our way."

Spock had been silently flicking his gaze from the monitor screen to his wife's ashen features and suddenly he uttered, "Christine!" in a stricken voice and stepped to her bedside. Before McCoy could protest, the Vulcan had placed the fingertips of his left hand on certain points on her face and closed his eyes in concentration. Christine flinched but then her furrowed brow smoothed out and slowly some color returned. The needles on the diagnostic panel began to rise and steady.

McCoy suddenly understood what he was doing. He was supporting Christine with his own strength and keeping her going by sheer force of will. Once he had his wife somewhat stabilized, Spock slipped his right hand down to her swollen abdomen and extended the link to the unborn child within her. It was incredibly difficult maintaining a double mindlink, supporting a sick woman and a struggling unformed mind, but somehow he managed it. McCoy could see the visible effort it was costing him.

The crash team rolled into the room with the gurney and stopped short. "What the...?" asked the orderly in charge but McCoy shushed him.

"Don't interrupt his concentration. As gently as you can, move her onto the gurney. And, for God's sake, don't break his contact with her!"

Somehow they got Christine transferred and the group of them moved off as quickly as they could down the hall toward the operating suites. Spock stepped up on the railing of the gurney and bent over his wife, maintaining his mindlink with her. McCoy steadied him as they swept through the doors that led to the sterilized area of the hospital.

There, they were forced to stop and the orderlies looked helplessly at McCoy. The doctor needed to change into his scrubs and Spock simply could not enter the sterile environment of the operating room with them.

Gently, McCoy touched his friend on the shoulder and said in a quiet voice, "Spock, we have to take her in now. You're going to have to let go."

For a moment, it seemed that Spock had not heard him, so deep was his concentration, then he moved to step down from the gurney railing and back away from the mindlink. He blinked and straightened, then lifted his hands from Christine's body. At once, the orderlies pushed the gurney into the prep room and the doors slid closed behind them.

Spock stared after them with a lost expression and McCoy smiled and took his arm. "Come on with me, Spock. Let's get you ready. I wouldn't think of depriving you of seeing the birth of your son."

The Vulcan blinked at him for a second before the words soaked in, then the two men hurried into the scrub area. Dr. Howard was already there, going through her routine, and Dr. T'Lann strode in a moment later. Upon seeing Spock, she lifted her hand in salute and said, " _Mene sakkhet_ , Spock."

" _u'Seveh_ , T'Lann," he responded automatically, but then McCoy was showing him how to use the sterilizer.

Dr. Howard had turned and was slipping into her sterile suit with the aid of the efficient prep nurses. McCoy glanced at her. "Sorry to usurp your authority, Joanie. She's your patient. But I didn't think there was time to consult you on this one."

"Len, I bow to your experience any time. I'd have done the same with one of yours." The red-haired doctor finished gowning and held out her hands to the nurses who slipped transparent, micro-thin gloves on her. T'Lann, McCoy and Spock followed her example. The nurses then fitted on their head coverings and masks and the quartet was ready to enter the operating room itself.

Christine was already there, prepped for surgery. She recognized her husband's unmistakable eyes, dark and worried underneath the sweep of his eyebrows, and reached out to him. He sat down on a stool next to the table and grasped her hand in his gloved one.

"Spock, I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't talk now, _t'hy'la,_ " he responded softly and lightly touched her cheek. He continued murmuring to her in Vulcan, causing Dr. T'Lann to glance curiously at him for a second, then she turned her attention back to where the OR nurses were draping Christine's lower body.

A tall portly man, gowned and masked, entered the OR and sat down on the other side of the operating table from Spock. "Hello, Christine," he said in a deep confident voice. "I'm Dr. Bond. I'll be doing your anesthesia today. Now, I want you to roll over just a bit towards your husband and hold onto him. Real still now. You're just going to feel a little buzz and then you'll get totally numb from the chest down. Okay? Here we go."

Rapidly thereafter the pace in the room picked up as the doctors and nurses got quickly down to business. Dr. Howard did the actual surgery and kept up a running commentary, directed sometimes to Christine and Spock, then tersely snapping directions at her team.

"Okay, we're going to do a lateral incision here, Christine. You'll feel a little pull but no pain. ... Nurse, clamp off that bleeder. ... Sponge. ... Doing okay, Chris? Good. ... Clamp. ... Hold that flap back out of the way. ... Okay, there's the uterus. NICU ready?"

"Yes, doctor," replied one of a group of people standing to one side.

"Okay. ... Sponge that. ... And there's the baby's head ... God, he's tiny ... and ... Spock, Christine ... here's your boy!" she announced.

They got a brief glimpse of the toy-sized infant held up in the doctor's blood-covered hands, then the neonatal team moved in with warmed, sterile towels before he could be chilled. "Cutting the cord," Dr. Howard went on, and then the baby was whisked away to the other side of the room to be cleaned, weighed and installed in the artificial womb that was awaiting him. T'Lann joined them. McCoy moved closer to assist Dr. Howard.

"Okay, let's remove the placenta and make sure everything's okay in there," Howard directed the surgical team and they quickly bent over the remaining tasks. Christine peered lovingly up at her husband, whose eyes were shining with affection above his mask.   But Christine was worried all the same. So far, the baby hadn't made a sound. And the neonate team seemed very busy across the room.

"One pound, five ounces," one of them announced.

"He's not breathing," another said.

"Respirator," commanded T'Lann. "Get the monitors on him."

Spock and Christine trained their attention on what was going on across the room and she clenched his hand in a death grip.

The sound of the monitor panel leapt into being but the heart monitor only gave a sporadic, irregular blip instead of the steady beat it should have.

"Cardiostimulator," snapped T'Lann. "Clear. ... Again. ... Again."

"No..." moaned Christine, beginning to tremble. "No, no..." She started to sob.

Dr. Howard glanced up at her then cut her gaze toward Dr. Bond. "Knock her out," she ordered curtly.

Christine's grip went limp in Spock's hand as her head fell back onto the pillow, unconscious. The surgical team continued to work at their job of closing and sealing the incision.

As if in a dream, Spock got up and walked toward the neonatal team. McCoy was instantly at his side, holding him back. "Let them work, Spock," he said.

The Vulcan didn't speak but stood rock still except for his labored breathing as he watched the medical team working frantically over his tiny, newborn son. The heart monitor picked up its rhythm for a second, then faltered again.

"One-quarter cc Cordrazine," T'Lann ordered and there was the hiss of a hypo. The heart monitor jumped but wouldn't stabilize. "Cardiostimulator, once more." Again the monitor jumped briefly.

Behind them, Howard said, "Okay, get her to recovery" and they heard the OR orderlies moving Christine onto a gurney and wheeling her out of the operating room. Howard stood up and stripped off her bloody gloves, tossing them into the disposer, but nobody left the room, engrossed in the drama taking place there. She moved to stand on the other side of Spock, gently placing her hand on his upper arm. He didn't appear to notice.

Without warning, the heart monitor flat-lined and nothing the frantic neonate team could do would change it.

Abruptly, Spock moved, jerking away from the two doctors who held him, and pushing through the pediatric team. Simultaneously, he yanked down his mask and then stripped off the glove of his right hand, causing one of the team to exclaim, "Hey — don't do that!"

Spock ignored him and bent over the lilliputian body of his son. Absently, he noted the perfectly formed Vulcan features and dark hair of the doll-like infant, but had no time to appreciate them. Instead, he carefully placed two fingers on the baby's face and closed his eyes, searching for a spark of life. He found it, but just barely. The flame was almost out.

"Solon ..." he whispered. " _Kh'av'icham, m'tench'wan... Kh'av'ich, Solonkam_..."

Inside the infant's mind, some primal recognition flicked in his direction, but it was not enough. The spark of life guttered and went out. Spock probed frantically to relocate it, but it was gone.

Slowly he straightened and gazed down at the baby. The premature infant was so tiny he felt he could have held him in the palm of his hand. Now he allowed himself to take in the miniature features, the hint of slanted eyebrows, the delicately shaped ears. His son, lost now forever. He would never see this child grow and learn, never teach him the ways of Vulcan, never experience his coming of age or watch him take the path of _Kahs'wan_ into manhood.

He became aware that the room was silent and both McCoy and Howard had their arms around him again. Two of the nurses were crying. Dr. Howard said quietly, "Computer, log time."

Dr. T'Lann pulled her mask down and spoke to him solemnly, "I grieve with thee, Spock."

He nodded without speaking. The others were watching him, as if afraid of what he might do, but he took command of himself and slipped behind the barrier of Vulcan stoicism and tradition. Drawing himself up, he answered, "Thank you, Doctor. My family and I thank you as we retire to mourn." It was the proper thing to say and, strangely, the ritual helped. He felt as if he had a tenuous grip on reality again, despite the circumstances.

"I thank you all for your efforts," he addressed the others. "Please do not feel badly. You did everything that could be done. It was simply not meant to be." He glanced over at McCoy. "I shall inform Christine," he told him.

"I'll come with you, Spock."

"No ... I would prefer that we be allowed our privacy. There are things that can only be shared between a husband and wife." He turned and walked slowly out of the operating room.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Earth Standard Date: 2277_ **

**_San Francisco, Terra, Sol System_ **

 

They recovered ... gradually. Spock took to spending long periods of time alone on the terrace, deep in meditation. Christine mended physically and began to get her strength back, but by mutual, unspoken agreement, they didn't discuss the trauma they'd been through. The pain was too fresh and too intense. When she turned into her pillow at night and sobbed uncontrollably, he put his arms around her and held her until she quieted, but there were no spoken comforts. His touch said enough to her and she knew he was grieving, too, and in his own way.

By the first of November, they knew that they had to get away from San Francisco. The oncoming autumn weather was too cold and wet for Spock's desert-bred system in his present state of mind. He craved the thin, dry heat of his home world and so left for Vulcan to visit his parents and observe a memorial period for the lost child. Christine didn't feel up to travelling that far, so she went to visit her sisters in Ohio instead. Instinctively, they were both going home to heal their wounds.

For Spock, the quiet streets of ShiKahr and solitude of the surrounding desert helped him recover his serenity and purpose of heart. He climbed Mt. Seleya and spent two days and nights in meditation and ritual mourning for Solon and, when he came back down again, he knew that he had laid the child mentally to rest.

Christine spent hours walking through the autumn woodlands surrounding her childhood home, talking with her sisters like when they'd been girls, and sharing heart-felt condolences that helped her accept her loss. She stayed for Thanksgiving with the family, then returned to San Francisco and felt well enough to return to work part time.

Spock came back just before Christmas. He, of course, did not practice human religious beliefs, but his mother had always felt this was a special holiday and had insisted on a small observation of it. Thus, he was familiar with the gift exchange and time of sharing. He brought Christine a necklace of _lasha_ stones, prized on Vulcan because they sparkled like that planet's red sun, Las'hark, and she gave him a small, complex puzzle box that was currently popular. At first, he had thought it easily solved, but as he worked at it, the box proved nearly impossible to get into the proper sequence. Without realizing that he was enjoying the toy immensely, he turned his concentration on solving the puzzle and worked at it for hours.

The first of the year, both went back to work full time. The spring semester started at the Academy and Christine resumed a line of research she had left when she'd become unable to work the previous summer. Life fell back into routine.

But there was a barrier separating them now. Solon's death had caused a defensive wall to come up between them. Christine couldn't bear to bring up the subject and Spock simply acted as if nothing had happened. In addition, they had ceased sexual relations when Christine became ill but now, when she felt ready to resume their lovemaking, he was completely indifferent to her subtle and not-so-subtle signals. As time went on, he began to avoid even sleeping with her, preferring to sit in meditation in his study, then leave for work often before she was even awake in the mornings. And he seemed oblivious to the pain he caused her every time he rejected her.

He began to immerse himself deeper and deeper into all things Vulcan. When he was at home, he holed up in his study and read Vulcan literature voraciously. In his off-duty hours, he took to wearing the clothing of his home world, claiming he felt more comfortable that way, and his study began to be transformed into a Vulcan shrine. And sometimes she would come home from work to find him sitting on the terrace, lost in the music of his _ka'athyra_ , the lyre he'd so lovingly carried throughout his years in Starfleet. It was other-worldly music and very beautiful, but he would stop playing as soon as she joined him and would set the instrument back in its place of honor in his office. Christine began to resent it. She didn't speak or read Vulcan, other than a few words, and Spock was using this, aware of it or not, as an avenue to escape from her into a world she couldn't enter.

He also began to find fault with the meals she made for them. Although she stuck to a vegetarian diet to please him, the dishes she served were largely of Terran origin. One evening, he put down his fork in disgust, walked over to the replicator and pointedly programmed the machine to prepare the Vulcan dish of _saya'tikh_ , which he brought back to the table and ate with deliberate enjoyment.

Christine had had enough. Incensed, she too slammed down her fork and shoved back her chair, striding over to the replicator. But the plate she brought back to the table was heaped with fried chicken, which she attacked with gusto. He faltered in his eating and stared at her, appalled, as she savagely ripped flesh off bones with her teeth.

His expression hardening, he lunged to his feet and stood glowering at her for a moment. For that moment, her heart caught in fear, wondering if she'd gone too far, but then he turned and marched out of the dining room. A few seconds later, she heard the front door open and close.

Slamming the chicken bone down onto the plate in rage, Christine burst into tears. In frustration and grief, she sobbed heavily for some time, then finally made herself get up and clear the table. The chicken had been a nasty expression of her anger. She knew that. He hadn't deserved that from her.

Still sniffling, she cleaned the dining table, dumped the uneaten food into the disposal, and fed the dishes into the washer. Then, dejectedly, she changed into her nightgown and went to bed.

The bed was very large and empty without Spock there beside her. He'd been gone for extended periods of time before, when he was away in space, but this was the first time he'd left in anger. She hugged his pillow up against her and breathed in its fragrance, thinking of the times she had snuggled against his back and slipped her arms around him, sliding her fingers through the crisp hair on his chest and nestling her cheek into his shoulder. The pillow smelled like him — the soap he used, the slightly spicy depilatory he shaved with, the warm, clean masculine scent of his skin. She hugged it tighter and, after a long time, drifted off to sleep.

She didn't know what woke her, but sometime in the early hours of the morning, she became aware of the sounds of movement in his study. She didn't fear that it might be an intruder. The security system wouldn't have let anyone but the two of them in.

Quietly, she got out of bed and went towards his office. He was sitting in the dark with his back to the door, staring out the window at the lights of San Francisco spreading toward the Bay in the distance. Her bare feet on the carpet were soundless, but his sharp hearing caught the whisper of her nightgown and he turned his head slightly in her direction.

"I didn't hear you come in," she said softly, wondering if she should approach him or leave him alone.

"I did not wish to wake you," he answered, and his muted voice held no lingering anger, only regret.

She moved closer to his chair. "Spock ... I'm sorry. It was inexcusable of me to act that way."

He was silent for a moment then held out his hand and responded, " _T'hy'la..._ "

Her breath caught in a sob and, quickly, she came and knelt beside his chair, taking his hand in both of hers and bending over it, wetting it with her tears. In reply, he leaned down to rest his face against her hair and stroked the blonde locks with his free hand.

"I am to blame, Christine," he said. "My behavior has been despicable lately."

"No, no, darling—"

"Please, let me speak," he insisted and lifted her face so that she looked at him. "I have been attempting to live as if Solon's death did not affect me. In doing so, I have rejected you at the very time you needed me most. You asked me to be emotionally honest with you and I have been just the opposite. I am truly sorry."

"Spock..." She caressed his face with her palm. "I should have realized what was wrong and helped you, but we were acting like two kids trying to out-spite each other. I'm so very sorry. Please, let's try to get back the relationship we had before. I miss it so much."

"I too have missed the comfort I have found in our bonding, _t'hy'la_ ," he confided in her, his voice soft and husky. He gazed deeply into her eyes and reached up to run his index and middle fingers down her face. She closed her eyes and gasped as their mindlink flared into being again. It had been so long since his mind had reached out to hers, since he'd sought to know her so intimately.

"Oh, Spock," she sighed, clutching his arm and pulling him to his feet. "Come to bed and I'll show you how much I've missed you."

The expression in his eyes might have been response enough, but to magnify his answer, he slid his arms around her back and under her knees and swept her up off her feet, then carried her toward their bedroom.

* * *

It was as if they were newly joined and the _shan hal lak_ , the engulfment, had taken them again. Christine was more in love with him than ever before, and Spock seemed happier and more content than she'd seen him in months. Neither came right out and said it, but both knew that they were ready to try for another child. Christine quietly had her birth control injection neutralized and, without getting her hopes up, they settled down to let nature take its course.

Six months passed without results and then a year. She had tests done. The results were inconclusive and they let more time pass. Twice, she felt certain that she had conceived, but nothing came of it and they went on with their lives.

Early in 2282, Spock again experienced _pon farr_. Memories of their first joining flooded back to haunt Christine, but this one proved to be pleasantly different. They took a week off, sealed themselves in against the world's intrusions, and gave themselves over totally to the voracious passions of the blood fever.

As a result, about the time the tulips were beginning to push up in the city parks, Christine felt the quickening of life within her again. Pregnancy was confirmed and they cautiously walked through the first few weeks with mixed hope and dread. But she rapidly became violently ill and was hospitalized with heavy bleeding and severe abdominal pain. She had miscarried once again.

As she recovered in her hospital room, Spock sat down on the bed beside her and told her to stop. "Christine, you are damaging your body more each time and I cannot permit that. It is obvious to me now that your system simply will not tolerate Vulcan genes."

"Spock, I'm so sorry I've failed you," she answered miserably. "I want more than anything to give you a child."

He shook his head and squeezed her hand. "It was not meant to be, _t'hy'la_. I cannot allow you to risk your life further. I have _you_ and I am content that you have chosen to spend your life with me. Be content as well, my wife."

She smiled in sad resignation and clutched his hand tightly. "Yes, my husband. As you wish it, may it be so."

He tilted his head and lifted one eyebrow quizzically. "I thought you would only play that role on Vulcan."

She smiled teasingly. "As you wish it, my husband."

"I ' _wish_ it' that you behave normally," he answered pointedly.

"Yes, my husband."

He sighed and leveled an exasperated gaze at her. "I recall that there was once an ancient Earth punishment known as 'spanking'. I believe it involved applying the flat of one's hand to the offender's buttocks with a certain amount of force. Shall I demonstrate?"

She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. "I don't know. It might be highly entertaining!"

"You are incorrigible," he retorted and got up. "You are to get some rest now and tomorrow we will have Dr. Howard reactivate your contraceptive. And that, wife, is my decision as your husband. I shall not risk you further."

"I love you," she answered simply. They touched fingertips and he stroked a caress down the back of her hand.

"Sleep now," he whispered and caressed her hand again.


	9. Chapter 9

**PART II**

******** ** **

**_Earth Standard Date: 2284_ **

**_Starfleet Academy, Terra, Sol System_ **

 

The senior class of cadets was ordinary in every way except one. Among the usual mix of humans and other species struggling through the curriculum was a half-Vulcan, half-Romulan girl named Saavik. She was very serious, very brilliant and very dedicated to blazing her way through command school, and Spock was utterly fascinated by her. So brilliant was she, in fact, that Starfleet had taken the extraordinarily rare step of promoting her to Acting Lieutenant (j.g.) while still technically a midshipman. She was without a doubt the most outstanding student he had ever had.

Far from coddling her, however, he subtly made her life more difficult, testing her limits, and she responded by performing with even more determination. She simply would not be broken by anything he threw at her. Gradually and without any obvious change in his manner, he began to mentor her.

And he began to feel in her a kindred spirit. It had been a long time since he had worked this closely with another Vulcan. Being surrounded constantly by emotional, illogical humans had been more wearing on his soul than he was prepared to admit. Now into his life came this brilliant girl who shared his background, his values, and his passion for learning. Their discussions drifted beyond the subject matter of her studies and they discussed philosophy, his experiences in space, their viewpoints on Federation policy and working with humans. They compared poetry and art from various cultures and defended their respective tastes in music. She asked his advice on various things and he gave her his counsel. They talked of the diplomatic relations between Vulcan and Romulus and of the budding efforts to bring the two planets back together in peace.

And they discussed all these things in Vulcan. Although Spock was naturally multi-lingual, equally at home in Vulcan, English or Galactic Standard, he preferred his native tongue. It was a fluid, complex language and he found that Saavik had a superb vocabulary and command of its structure. It had been a long time since he had heard Vulcan spoken so beautifully.

He didn't realize how far their relationship had developed until one day after class when she had lingered to retrieve an extra assignment he had given her. They had been conversing in Vulcan, as they usually did, and he absently addressed her as "Saavikam."

The honorarium denoted an elder-to-apprentice relation and one that indicated quite a bit of affection as well. Startled, she blinked at him in silence, mentally sorting out what this new change in status meant. Then she straightened and responded with the proper respectful Vulcan phrase and added, "Spock'kan." Not "Captain" or "Sir", but "Spock-Teacher/Honored Elder/Master."

He had realized his slip as soon as he'd said it but there was no going back now. "I'll expect that report tomorrow, Cadet, documented in full and cross-referenced."

"Yes, sir. I'll have it for you, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

She snapped to attention in salute and turned to go.

"Saavikam..."

"Sir?" She turned back to him and it struck him that she was very beautiful, as well.

"Don't forget that Chapter 22 is also due."

"No, Spock'kan. I mean, sir. I won't forget."

"Carry on."

This time he let her go but he sat for quite a while longer in his empty classroom, thinking about this thing he had done. It was highly irregular, if not downright improper, that he should be favoring a student in his class. No, it went further than that. Something like this could be seen as fraternization, even moral misconduct. Saavik was very young and inexperienced and, even with Vulcans, an older man taking such a close interest in a young woman could be taken the wrong way. If their relationship were misinterpreted, it could be ruinous for both of them. And if she misread his interest in her and responded in a more personal manner, that in the very least would prove awkward and could very well irreparably damage his career and his marriage, not to mention Saavik's potential for the future. Grimly, he realized that he was treading on very dangerous ground with his prize pupil. He would have to step lightly and carefully.

Getting up, he gathered his lecture materials and left the classroom, turning out the light.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Earth Standard Date: 2285_ **

**_Starfleet Academy, Terra, Sol System_ **

 

At the end of her course of studies at Starfleet Academy, just prior to graduating, Saavik took the _Kobayashi Maru_ test ... and failed it miserably. This disturbed her terribly, but Spock shrugged it off. It wasn't a required test and he told her so. In any case, it was a no-win scenario and even the legendary Admiral Kirk had failed it three times. In fact, he was actually the only person in Starfleet history who'd finally beaten the test, but Spock refused to say any more about it. He himself had realized that the scenario was designed to defeat everyone who took it and he had seen no logic in wasting time on it. He had simply chosen to forego it altogether.

In any case, the final training voyage of the senior class was about to get underway and he sent Saavik off to finish her arrangements. The day happened to be Admiral Kirk's 52nd birthday and Spock took time out to express his felicitations to his long-time friend and to present him with an antique paper volume of Dickens' _A Tale of Two Cities_. Kirk was strangely depressed, which Spock did not completely understand. Spock himself was 55 Earth-years in age, but to a Vulcan he was still a young man. He fully expected to have another century ahead of him, possibly more.

The intercom paged him and announced that his shuttle was leaving soon.

"Where are you off to?" Kirk asked him.

"The _Enterprise._ I must check in before your inspection. And you?" the Vulcan inquired.

"Home," Kirk answered pensively and left Spock standing in the training center atrium. He watched his former commander walk away down the hall and was at a loss as to how to respond. In any case, he was pressed for time. His inner chronometer told him that he only had a few minutes in which to get to the shuttle launch bay and take his leave of Christine before going up to his ship.

She was waiting for him in the departure lounge, having taken the time to leave her own desk and hurry across the Academy complex grounds to the shuttle area. His kit bag was already on board, his long years of efficient packing making it almost an automatic process. He'd turned it over to his yeoman that morning as he came to class and had no doubt that she had things unpacked and put away in his cabin, exactly the way he liked them.

Christine smiled as she watched her tall, self-assured husband stride toward the lounge area. He really looked magnificent in the new Starfleet uniform. He'd gained a little weight over the years and there was beginning to be the slightest threading of silver in his sleek, dark hair, but overall she thought he was as handsome as when she'd first laid eyes on him, that day she'd come aboard the _Enterprise_ as a replacement nurse in the medical department.

He had come into sick bay to return something to Dr. McCoy and she had collided with him as he turned to go back through the CMO's office. Instinctively, she threw both hands up and found herself pressed full-length up against his body, her hands flat against his chest. For a second they stood and stared at each other and she was absolutely mesmerized by the dark, cool eyes underneath the upswept eyebrows. He didn't say anything but slowly one of those eyebrows lifted in a questioning gesture. "Nurse?" he inquired in a deep voice that sent chills down her spine. "Is there something I can do for you?"

_Oh, God, what he was doing to her already!_ She abruptly became aware of the blue velour beneath her palms and, even moreso, of the heat of his body underneath that. She hastily dropped her hands and backed away a step, stuttering, "I'm sorry, Mister ... uh ... Mister..."

"Spock." It was a flat statement with undertones somewhere between annoyance and bemusement that she actually didn't know who he was.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Spock. I didn't mean to run into you."

"Quite all right, nurse. Excuse me, please." He stepped around her and walked out the door, oblivious to the breathless condition he'd left her in. She'd never been that close to a Vulcan before and, from that moment on, she was head over heels in love with the enigmatic science officer.

Now he tilted his head slightly as he approached, noting the dreamy expression on her face. "Christine?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I was just thinking about the day we met. Do you remember it?"

"Indeed. I did not expect such a ... physical introduction." There was a hint of a smile pulling at his lips, which was about as much humor as he would display in public.

She changed the subject as cadets and crew began to arrive and file through the shuttle boarding gate. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, wife. As usual, you are sending me off well-provisioned." His eyes were laughing at her and she smiled back.

"I wish I were going with you," she said, suddenly loathe to be parted from him.

"It is only a three week training voyage," he answered. "You will scarcely have time to notice that I am gone before I will be back."

"Of course..." She sighed. "Please just be careful."

His expression softened and he said in a low voice meant only for her, "I will count the days, _t'hy'la_." He held up his right hand with his fingers spread in the Vulcan salute and she pressed her palm against his.

Through their mindlink, he expressed things to her that could not be said out loud and they became lost for a moment deep within each other's eyes. He swaddled her in love and caring and then nearly made her gasp when he pictured in her mind the homecoming he planned for her.

Her eyes widened and she whispered, "Are you trying to make _me_ go into _pon farr_ , Spock?" His eyebrows shot up in amusement. "Well, then stop thinking things like that at me! You're liable to get jumped right here in front of your cadets!"

To his credit, he kept his face rigidly placid, although she could see what the effort cost him. "I do not think Starfleet would approve," he murmured back, barely able to contain the smile pulling at his lips.

"Hurry home, beloved," she whispered. "I miss you already."

"As quickly as I can, _t'hy'la_ ," he promised and gazed with deep longing into her eyes as if he could not bear to leave her.

At last, however, he pulled himself back mentally and physically and straightened into the Starfleet officer that most people saw. Glancing up, he saw that Saavik was standing near the shuttle entrance, watching them, her duffle thrown over one shoulder. She had a carefully schooled neutral expression on her face.

"You are late, Mr. Saavik," Spock said in his command voice.

"No, sir, I am not," the young woman responded. "There are still three minutes before shuttle launch."

"Then I suggest you use them to good advantage and get on board."

"Aye, sir." She darted one last curious look between Spock and Christine, then turned and went through the entry gate.

"Your protégé?" Christine inquired, a little harder than she intended.

"One of my cadets," he retorted.

"That look was more than a student's curiosity, Spock," she answered in a knowing tone.

He lifted one eyebrow and gave her a skeptical glance. "Do I detect a note of jealousy in your voice, wife?"

"No, of course not. Just beware of pretty little cadets out to please their commanding officers, husband." She gazed at him meaningfully. "I know how easy it is to fall in love with strong, handsome, brilliant Vulcans."

"Indeed! Have you known many?"

"Oh, get on board before they leave without you!"

He smiled indulgently at her, evidently not caring now who saw it. "Goodbye, Christine. I shall see you in three weeks."

"Goodbye, darling. Safe journey."

He turned and walked through the boarding gate, the last one to enter, and the shuttle crew closed the hatch behind him. Suddenly the clang of that door sealing shut seized her heart like an icy fist. Suddenly she was gripped with the ghastly premonition that she would never see him again.

* * *

But nothing, absolutely nothing had happened. Several days went by after the _Enterprise_ had left her parking orbit 250 miles above the North American west coast and warped out into deep space for parts unknown. Christine wasn't privy to starship destinations and all she knew was that the _kae'farr_ let her know that her husband was safe, well and happy. Besides his nearly‑graduated students, in whom he felt a well-deserved sense of pride, he was accompanied on this voyage by his long-time friends and fellow bridge officers who were supervising their own "kids" in this exercise. Spock sat in the center seat now, and even with Admiral James Kirk literally looking over his shoulder, he was calm, content and supremely confident in his ability to command. The _Enterprise_ was _his_ ship now and he was her lord and master.

Christine had quit worrying, convincing herself that she just had the traditional jitters every wife of a sea-farer had felt from time immemorial as men had gone down to the sea in ships. Well, they went into a different sea now ... a sea of stars, as vast, empty and dangerous as any those sailing men had faced. There were dragons there, and sirens, and wild currents, and sometimes they fell over the edge. But most of the time, they came sailing home again, to the arms of the women who loved them. And sometimes it was the reverse. Sometimes it was the _women_ who went sailing and left their men to worry and pace and watch the horizon for sails and masts.

So Christine contented herself in the knowledge that at least she _knew_ and could sleep at night.

It was the afternoon of the eighth day that a sense of unease caused her to shiver and look up from the scanning microscope where she was examining a new strain of Rigellian fever virus. She glanced around the lab at her fellow researchers. All was placid and quiet, low-key instrumental music playing softly from someone's personal audicube. Outside, it was a beautiful spring day. Fair weather cumulus dotted a vivid blue sky, streaked now and then by the trails of personal flitters and urban transports as they followed the skypaths over the city.

Chapel shook her head and went back to her work, but the tension she was feeling refused to go away. If anything, it intensified — rapidly. She couldn't figure out what was wrong and wondered if she were falling ill somehow and hadn't recognized the symptoms yet.

And then a sense of extreme danger materialized on top of the anxiety. _Mortal_ danger. Involuntarily, she gasped and almost toppled off the high stool she was sitting on, fighting the instinctive urge to run, to get away.

"Christine?" Her nearest neighbor leaped to her aid and steadied her. "What's wrong?"

She had one hand flat on her chest, gasping for breath. "I don't know! I don't know! Oh, God!" She was more frightened than she'd ever been in her life.

The room was full of doctors, of course, and they were all on their feet now, ready to assist in any way they could. Christine tried to wave them away. "No, no, I'm all ri—"

Suddenly, she appeared to be listening in stricken silence to something the others couldn't hear, staring up at the ceiling as if it weren't there and she could see lightyears into space, had leaped to some unknown point in the vast blackness that stretched out past the thin, gauzy envelope that surrounded their blue world.

Then, abruptly, her expression crumpled into abject terror and grief, and clutching her temples, she screamed, " _Spock!!_ " and her legs gave way beneath her, collapsing her into a boneless heap.

What the others, rushing to her side, couldn't have known, couldn't have heard, was the soft sigh of her husband's voice, deep in her mind, calling her name with his last fading thought, whispering " _t'hy'la_..." — strength and soulmate for life, bonded love, wife of my heart ...

And then the _kae'farr_ , the mindlink that had joined them for the past nine years was ... _gone_. Utterly, totally gone. And Spock with it. Their mindlink had snapped as if a light had gone out.

She never felt herself being lifted and strapped to a stretcher or being transported to the medcenter. She was too grief stricken and too inconsolable. Later, when the aching, screaming emptiness had dulled, she would be able to analyze the emotions that had come flooding over her at the end and she would relive his final moments — duty, a sense of time running out, extreme concern for his ship and crew. Pain. Searing, burning pain. A flash of doubt in his abilities, then iron determination. Finally, fear. For himself as the realization hit him that the darkness falling around him would not lift. Then resignation, relief that others were safe. And his wife, his _t'hy'la_ , his love...

* * *

Eventually, the world came back into focus for Christine. They had sedated her and she had slept through the night and into morning, a troubled sleep filled with explosions and shouting voices and dazzling bright lights. After a long time, she dragged her consciousness up from the nightmares and managed to get her eyes open.

It was light outside the room window but, from the stillness and lack of traffic, she deduced that it was still early. Her mouth was dry and her head still fuzzy, but the drug-induced sleep had helped. The panic and shock had dulled to a dim grumble in the background and she had her wits about her again. Spock's death and the absence of the _kae'farr_ still felt like someone had ripped her forcibly open and torn out her heart, but she knew that she could not allow herself to succumb to grief right now.

With a little effort, she sat up on the side of the bed and tried to think what to do. First, she decided, was to put through a subspace call to the _Enterprise_ and find out what had happened. As she reached to pull the bedside computer her way, the screen popped on and the duty nurse, alerted by the rise in the medical monitors that she was awake, asked, "Do you need anything, Doctor? How are you feeling now?"

"I'm all right, LaShan, thanks," she answered, recognizing the young woman. "I'm just going to make a call. Thanks for asking."

"Yell if you need me. I'm as close as the 'comm."

The computer screen went dark and Christine composed herself. She requested Starfleet Communications and, when she got the computer voice acknowledging the connection, she recited the comm code for the _Enterprise_ and started to give it Spock's personal code. Abruptly, she caught herself. No, it would just route into his message board and await an answer. She had to talk to someone, but, try as she might, she couldn't remember anyone else's personal code.

For a second, she wracked her brain then remembered — Uhura was onboard this trip. _She_ would know what was going on. Quickly, Christine directed the comm center to call the main code of the ship and settled back to wait while the transmission went through. Even flashing through the non-reality of subspace, it could still take quite a while to relay through the various processors and reach out through the unimaginable distances to the tiny speck of humanity in the vast emptiness.

But, a mere five minutes later, the computer voice responded, "Unable to comply."

"What?"

"Unable to comply."

"Explain."

"Communication with U.S.S. _Enterprise_ , NCC-1701, has been prohibited until further notice by order, Starfleet Command."

"Why?"

"That information has been prohibited by order, Starfleet Command."

"Has something happened to the ship?"

"That information has been prohibited by order—"

"Okay, okay, cancel."

Christine lay back on her bed and thought hard. Okay, so Starfleet had slapped a quarantine on news about whatever had happened to the ship and crew. That could mean anything from its being completely destroyed to its having strayed into the Neutral Zone and an "incident" occurring with the Romulans. And with a student crew aboard, the implications for public outcry were even worse. Starfleet was taking very seriously the release of news about whatever it was. And it could simply mean that the families of any casualties hadn't been contacted yet. _She_ hadn't been. At least, she didn't _think_ they'd tried to contact her. After all, she'd been kept rather comatose for the past several hours.

She sat up again and called their home message center. Three calls were waiting but they were inconsequential and she deleted them. How could she get through to the ship ... providing it still existed and was not a spreading cloud of ionized dust and debris. (That thought threatened to undo her tenuous control and she laying shaking for several minutes while she made herself rigidly get in command of her emotions.) Who could she call that had the power to override Starfleet Command?

And then suddenly she knew. Someone that no one would dare oppose. And, moreover, they had common purpose in discovering the fate of one particular person on board that ship.

Christine turned to the computer screen and punched up the number for the Vulcan Embassy.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Earth Standard Date: 2285_ **

**_San Francisco, Terra, Sol System_ **

 

To the unschooled eye, the compound of serenity and reason that was designated Vulcan soil appeared to move at its usual deliberate pace. True, there were a few more people up and about at an earlier hour than normal, and perhaps they moved with a bit quicker step, but they showed no agitation, no lessening of calm.

To the trained eye, however, the Vulcan Embassy boiled like a swarm of bees whose hive had been disturbed.

Christine had pulled her own sort of rank, dismissed herself from the medcenter, and taken a cab across town to Embassy Row. Now she stood at the front gate and awaited an answer to her bell summons. After what seemed like an eternity, a young Vulcan male approached and inquired after her business there.

"Take me to Ambassador Sarek," she said, doing her best to control her nervousness.

"Your pardon, Madame, but, for personal reasons, Ambassador Sarek is unavailable to see visitors today."

"I'm not a visitor!" Christine snapped. "I'm his son's wife!"

The degree of shock that flashed over the young man's face surprised her and would have been amusing if the situation hadn't been so urgent. "Lady—" the Vulcan responded, hastily opening the gate and allowing her to enter. "I ask forgiveness. We have been attempting to contact you."

"I figured as much," she answered. "Please take me to Sarek."

The young man led her quickly into the main hall where her father-in-law stood waiting grimly for her. Automatically, Christine slipped into the proper role, but even with his extraordinary calm, Sarek seemed too upset to notice it.

"Christine," he greeted her, one of the few times he had ever dropped a formal stance with her. "I am thankful that you are here now. We were unable to contact you until you called. You should have let me send my car—"

"It was faster this way. Anyway, they sedated me yesterday and I only woke up a short while ago."

"Understandable, daughter. Come, let us retire to more private rooms. We have much to discuss ... and calls to make."

The unlikely pair disappeared into ambassador's office and, once they were alone, she turned to him, unable to hold back the tears any longer. "Sarek — _Spock is dead!_ " she blurted.

"I know, daughter. I felt his death as well."

"I can't find out anything! Starfleet has shut off communication with the _Enterprise_ and I can't get through! I don't even know if the ship exists anymore!"

"The ship is intact, although damaged. There were many deaths and injuries," Sarek said pensively.

"But do you know what happened?"

"I have been unable to obtain any more information overnight," he answered. "But it is time to seek that information." He lightly touched a small pad on his desktop. "Sylan."

"Ambassador?" the voice of one of his aides responded immediately.

"Please get Admiral Nogura for me. I do not care where he is or what he is doing."

"At once, Ambassador."

The aide clicked off and Sarek took the opportunity in the meantime to settle Christine on the couch on one side of the sitting area. A young woman appeared and set a beautiful white china coffee service on the low table before her. Christine was even more startled when Sarek himself poured for them in a most courtly manner. She didn't realize until later that the protocol was offered both out of courtesy and to take her mind off their waiting, and she also realized later that the entire office was done in an elegant, antique Western European design. Not Vulcan at all, as she would have expected. The entire effect was carefully constructed to make Terran visitors comfortable and give Sarek the advantage in his dealings with them.

But she didn't think about those things now, only that the coffee was fresh and of a superb blend. He offered her a small pastry, which she accepted, partially because she was too numb to think and partially because she hadn't had anything to eat since the day before.

And then Sylan's soft voice was announcing, "Admiral Nogura, sir."

"Excellent." Sarek rose from the couch and went to his desk, where he switched on the comm screen. Nogura's face appeared and he looked decidedly disheveled. It was plain that he'd been up all night.

"Ambassador Sarek. Sir, may I extend my deepest condolences to you and express my most sincere apologies for not speaking with you earlier. I'm afraid that things have been rather hectic here."

"I understand, Admiral, but the time has come for information," Sarek responded. "I have Dr. Christine Chapel with me, my son's wife. I must have details of what has happened."

Christine had arisen and come over behind Sarek where she could see Nogura and vice versa. "Dr. Chapel — I'm so sorry—"

"Just tell us what has happened!" she snapped, trying to keep control.

Nogura rubbed a hand over his tired features. "Do you have this channel scrambled, Ambassador?"

Sarek reached out and touched another switch. "Yes," he answered.

"What I'm about to tell you is classified under highest security. Starfleet will issue an official statement later, but for now, nothing I say leaves your office."

"Understood, sir."

Nogura then proceeded to relate a brief account of Project Genesis and the experiments at the Regula One Space Lab in the Mutara sector. He told them of the taking of the _Reliant_ by the madman Khan, of the theft of the Genesis Device, and finally of the battle that took place in the nebula itself, culminating in the detonation of Genesis and the destruction of _Reliant_.

"But Spock—" Christine insisted.

"Ma'am, according to Admiral Kirk, your husband died saving the lives of everyone left alive aboard the _Enterprise_ ," Nogura told her solemnly.

Unable to contain her grief any longer, Christine put her hands over her face and dissolved into wrenching sobs. Sarek glanced at her in sorrow and discomfort, but did not move toward her. "Why hasn't Admiral Kirk contacted us?" he asked.

"Ambassador, you must understand, the _Enterprise_ was severely damaged during the battle. The hull was breached twice by phaser fire and a number of cadets were killed and injured. The warp engines were knocked off-line and it was Captain Spock who sacrificed himself to go into the core and get the mains back on again, thus allowing them to escape certain destruction when Genesis detonated. The fix didn't last very long, but long enough to get them out of the danger zone, then the warp engines had to be shut down again. They are running on impulse only. We have spent the night here dispatching rescue ships to _Enterprise_ 's aid and attempting to contact the families of those on board and notify them." Nogura sighed. "We have not told them what I have related to you, of course. Only that an attack occurred. There will be a press release later this morning."

"I see," Sarek said and was silent for a few seconds. "Admiral, do you know what arrangements have been made for my son's body?"

"Sir, I doubt any arrangements have been made at all," the admiral answered, looking distressed. "Captain Spock was only one of nearly three dozen killed during the attack. Dozens more were injured. I'm sure their concern at the moment is getting those injured to medical care, as well as repairing the ship and returning here to Earth."

"Of course, Admiral Nogura."

"Now, sir, if you will excuse me, I really _am_ forced to return to my duties here. Again, I express my most sincere and heart-felt condolences on Captain Spock's death. He was a long-time acquaintance of mine, as well, and one of the finest men I've ever known."

"Thank you, Admiral. My family and I appreciate your expressions of grief."

Nogura signed off. Christine excused herself for a moment and went into the sani to compose herself and wipe her face. When she returned, Sarek was standing before one of the elegantly appointed full-length windows, staring absently at the compound grounds outside.

"Have you contacted Amanda yet?" she asked her father-in-law, coming to stand quietly beside him.

"Not yet. That is my next duty. I wanted to be able to offer her more information before I called her. But neither do I want her to hear of this on the holo channels. The Starfleet Public Relations office will be issuing a statement within the hour. I must inform her before then."

"I'll go then and let you get on with that," she answered. "I think I'm going back home. I really need a long, hot bath and then some sleep in my own bed—" Abruptly, she nearly lost control again, for it was _their_ bed and Spock would never lie beside her again. "I'm sorry."

"Christine, the grief of a spouse is quite to be expected, especially when the bond is broken so abruptly," the old Vulcan answered, surprisingly gentle. "I _do_ understand. You forget that I have lost a mate as well."

In truth, she _had_ forgotten. Spock had mentioned once that Amanda was Sarek's second wife and that his first had died shortly after giving birth many years before. The Vulcans were so stoic and unemotional that most found it hard to believe that they could experience powerful feelings towards family and loved ones.

"Sarek, thank you for everything," she said sincerely. "Thank you for helping me this morning."

"Son's wife, you are stating the obvious," he gently chided her. "Within the family, no thanks are expected."

She nodded and smiled a little. He insisted on calling for his aircar to take her home, then sent the girl who had brought coffee, T'Rael, with her. T'Rael turned out to be Sarek's aide's assistant and thus a rather high-ranked individual herself. She didn't look like she was out of her teens, which probably meant that she was nearly 30, but she had a kind manner and assured Christine that she would take care of anything that came up after the news hit the channels.

They just barely made it back to Spock and Christine's apartment before all hell broke loose. T'Rael locked the doors, darkened the windows, and activated the security field. At first, Christine thought she was going overboard, but then soon had reason to be thankful for the implacable Vulcan wisdom of the young woman.

They had turned on the vidscreen when they walked in and flipped to the local news channel. At first, it was only ordinary things — the Teamsters strike at United Mars Transport, the threatened trade embargo against the Ferengi, upcoming elections in a half dozen places.

And then a red border began flashing around the image and the newscaster cut in. "This breaking news just in — _Starfleet Academy cadets die in deep space attack!_ Starfleet Headquarters has just released a statement that 30 senior cadets and their commanding officer have died aboard the starship U.S.S. _Enterprise_ following a surprise attack by terrorists in the Mutara Sector! The ship was on training maneuvers when the incident occurred. Killed in the attack was the ship's captain, Spock of Vulcan—" And a head and shoulders official portrait of Spock appeared beside the newscaster. "—who gained fame a decade ago during exploration missions on this same ship with Admiral James Kirk. Admiral Kirk was also on board the _Enterprise_ when the attack occurred but was not injured. A sister ship, the U.S.S. _Reliant_ , was destroyed in the same attack and her commander, Captain Clark Terrell, was also killed. That crew is reported safe. We will have a full list of casualties later in this newscast. Captain Spock was the son of Vulcan Ambassador Sarek and the former Amanda Grayson of Earth. Besides his parents, Captain Spock is survived by his wife, Dr. Christine Chapel, a researcher at Fleet Hospital in Greater San Francisco, Earth. He was currently assigned as an instructor at Starfleet Acad—"

The comm unit set up an urgent chiming and both Christine and T'Rael looked its way. "I will handle all the calls and press," T'Rael said calmly. "Is there anyone to whom you _do_ wish to speak?"

"If my sisters call, I'll speak with them," she answered and gave T'Rael their names. "But right now, I'm going to go soak in the tub for a while and then I'm going to lie down. I can't even think straight anymore."

"As you wish, _T'Sai_ ," the young Vulcan answered, using the formal honorific.

"No, call me Christine, please."

"Agreed."

As Christine left the living area, the comm unit was chiming again and someone began to ring the doorbell too.

* * *

Jim finally got a call through to her late that evening. He apologized profusely for not calling earlier but she shushed him, telling him that the ship and his crew had priority. He looked like he'd lost a brawl with a gang of angry Klingons. Hollow-eyed, pale, and with a couple of days' worth of beard, she doubted that he'd had any rest at all since events had begun for them.

The hospital ship _Walter Reed_ had gotten to them first and med-evac'd all the injured to their wards. Not long afterwards, repair ships began arriving and technicians in suits were now swarming all over the hull, patching the long, scorched tears that marred the port side of the ship. They hoped to have those sections air-tight and pressurized within the next twelve hours.

The _Reed_ had taken the bodies of the students killed for rapid transport back to Earth, but Kirk had a special problem with Spock's body. It was so saturated with radiation that McCoy had advised them not to even attempt to bring him home.

"Christine, I must ask your permission for something. Something very hard," Jim said softly. "I must ask you to let me bury him in space, here at Mutara."

At the thought of never being able to see him again, even to say goodbye, tears began rolling down her cheeks and she put her hand over her eyes, sobbing in despair for a few moments. When she managed to gain control at last, she could see that Kirk's face was wet, too.

"Chris, I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"Jim, don't apologize, please." She wiped her face. "I know you'll do what you think is best. He would want you to. After all—" And she managed a wan smile. "—it's the logical thing to do."

Kirk promised that the service would be taped and he would bring it to her personally, as soon as they got back to Earth. They should be there in a few days. Scotty and the repair team now had the warp engines back on line. She'd only make about warp two, but that was better than limping along on impulse for weeks before they reached the nearest starbase. He would let her know their arrival time.

"Thank you, Jim," Christine said with all her heart. "Thank you for not letting Spock die alone."


	12. Chapter 12

**_Earth Standard Date: 2285_ **

**_Space Dock, Earth Orbit, Sol System_ **

 

She was waiting in the crew lounge of Federation Space Dock when the battered, war‑weary _Enterprise_ crept into her moorings. Like the rest of the people there, Chapel stared in disbelief at the burned and patched hull, the long, seared gashes giving eloquent testimony to the fierceness of the attack she had withstood.

Bow thrusters flickered and the ship's forward momentum ceased as mooring clamps and umbilicals snaked out and found their latches on the ship's hull. As soon as the ship was secured, gangways moved out and attached themselves to the portside crew hatches, then pressurized to allow access and exit for the ship's secondary hull. Running lights and exterior systems shut off and thrusters dispelled steam as the ship's systems powered down. _Enterprise_ was home. She almost seemed to sigh in exhaustion.

Christine hurried down to the crew entry port. A medical team was waiting to board as soon as the gangway was cleared for use and they rushed in with an anti-grav stretcher as quickly as the doors slid open. After a few minutes, crewmen began trickling through into the boarding area and dispersing into the crowd.

Ten minutes later, the med team was rushing back with an injured man on the stretcher. As they hurried by, Christine was shocked to see that it was Dr. McCoy! She hadn't known that he'd been hurt but they didn't give her time to speak to him. She turned back to the entryway.

" _Christine! Help me!_ "

With a cry, she whirled to stare after the med team disappearing in the crowd, her heart pounding wildly. _The voice had been Spock's!_

Her mind spinning with panic and confusion, she could only stand gasping, trying to make sense of it. She didn't notice when Jim Kirk exited the gangway and came up behind her.

"Christine..."

Startled, she pivoted toward him, then sagged in relief and fell into his arms. He hugged her back tightly in comfort and they stood that way for a long moment, sharing their common grief. At last, she drew back and wiped her eyes. "Dr. McCoy?" she asked, indicating the direction the med team had taken. "What happened?"

"Not here. Let's get out of this madhouse. We've got to talk ... and I've got to think about what we're going to do next."

* * *

In the end, they didn't take her into their confidence or tell her what they were going to do. Perhaps there hadn't been time or perhaps they'd just made the plan up as they went along.

On the third morning after the _Enterprise_ had arrived back in port, Christine went into the kitchen to make coffee and flipped on the little countertop holocube as she usually did. The first thing she heard was:

"—search for the missing starship and crew. Admiral Kirk had just this week piloted the _Enterprise_ back to Earth following a disastrous battle in which a number of cadets and their commanding officer, Captain Spock, were killed." Christine stood stock still, riveted to the images before her. "Starfleet Command has no comment on why Admiral Kirk and several companions would have stolen the cruiser or where they might be headed. It is speculated that they may be in route to Vulcan for purposes related to Captain Spock's death."

Christine began to curse, using language that would have thoroughly shocked and scandalized her dignified, conservative husband. When she exhausted all the Terran words she knew, she tried out a few in Ferengi, Klingon, Rigellian, and some obscure ones whose origin she didn't know but which were sufficiently pungent to serve her purpose.

_How dare they leave without her!_ She began to cry in frustration. _Kirk knew she would have insisted on going._

Furious, she went to the comm unit and called Sarek. "Where have they gone?" she demanded.

"Daughter, it is best if you do not become involved at this point," he answered.

"Dammit, Sarek, tell me!"

He stood there stolidly for a moment, as if weighing how much, if any, information to give her. Finally, he answered, "I cannot tell you that."

"What?! Why?"

"Christine, I can say no more. I am about to return to Vulcan. I will contact you if ... if we are successful."

"Successful? At what? Anyway, I'm coming with you!"

"No. Daughter, _please_ , do as I ask you to do. As _Spock_ would ask you to do. Stay here and say nothing. What Kirk is doing is extremely dangerous. He and his crew have already committed high crimes and are committing more. My association with them could result in an interplanetary incident that may result in my being recalled. As it is, I have had to exercise my diplomatic immunity to be allowed to leave the planet. _Please_ , for Spock's sake and your own, do not bring suspicion on yourself."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Just stay on Earth and keep your own counsel. You will undoubtedly be questioned by Starfleet Security simply because of your ties to us. The less you know, the less you can reveal. That is all I will say for now. Just wait for me to contact you."

Reluctantly, she agreed and hung up, more puzzled and distraught than ever. But, clearly whatever they were doing, it was a desperate measure. But she couldn't, for the life of her, imagine what it was Kirk and Sarek were up to.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Earth Standard Date: 2285_ **

**_Planet Genesis, Mutara Sector_ **

 

Saavik watched David Marcus disappear into the jungle growth on his way to scout out the Klingon locations. Ordinarily, as a Starfleet officer, she would have insisted that she be the one to conduct the surveillance, but now she felt that she should stay with her other companion. His time was close at hand.

A deep groan attracted her attention to the adolescent Vulcan boy kneeling across the clearing from her. He was bent double in pain, panting for breath, his teeth clenched.

"So..." Saavik said to herself in Vulcan. " _Khisala_... It has begun."

With measured steps, she approached him, wary of his reaction. He was doubly a threat now in his mindless state, being driven mad by _plak tow_. He was like a wounded animal in this condition and likely to attack without warning.

Gingerly, she knelt before him. "It is called _pon farr_ ," she said softly. He looked up at her, uncomprehending, shaking uncontrollably as the blood fever raged within him. His dark brown eyes were filled with pain and fear. " _Pon farr_ ," she repeated. He still didn't understand her, but the feral expression in his eyes faded a bit and he listened to her, at least to the sound of her soothing voice.

"Will you trust me?" she asked him in Vulcan. He merely stared at her but he seemed calmer. Saavik held up her right hand, first two fingers extended. The boy dropped his gaze and studied her gesture, then looked back at her questioningly. She nodded and he slowly brought his left hand up in a similar configuration. Nodding her approval, Saavik touched their fingers together, all the time watching him closely. The angular lines of his face smoothed out a bit and she could begin to see in him the familiar features that she had known for so long. Strange to see them at so young an age, with the evidences of worry and age missing.

She reached out with her mind and attempted to meld with him, but there was no intellect to reach, only primitive, animal impressions and fears. His thoughts were raging with fever and her touch both calmed and inflamed him, emotions fighting with one another for mastery.

Saavik continued to attempt to calm him and she now stroked a caress down the back of his hand. Amazed, he gasped at the sensation it created within him and, when she nodded her consent, he hesitantly and awkwardly did the same thing to her. Rewarded with the same pleasant feeling, he intertwined his fingers with hers.

Through her mindlink with him, she tried to quiet the blood fever, to delay it. But her touch reeked of "female" and that began to trigger an uncontrollable urge within him to mate with her. The _plak tow_ roared back into full force and he began to move purposefully toward her, his eyes fixed on her face, the fire and madness of the _pon farr_ beginning to cover his features.

With resignation, she knew that her efforts to calm him were futile. Nothing would end the blood fever now except allowing it to run its course. Bowing to the only logical actions open to her, Saavik fended him off long enough to get out of her boots and uniform trousers. Then she lay back in a bed of ferns and took the agitated young Vulcan in her arms.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Earth Standard Date: 2285_ **

**_Mt. Seleya, Vulcan, 40 Eridani System_ **

 

At first, there was only the vague sensation of _being_ again, of existence. A vague, formless void in which to float, wafted by currents unseen, drifting eternally as shapeless non-corporeal matter. It was a pleasant state of being and he floated along on that current for ages untold, flotsam on a sea of nothingness.

Sometime later, a very, very long time later, he washed up on dry land. It must have been dry land, for he seemed to stick there and could not move. He missed the formless ocean and sought to return to its depths, but the dry land held him and the ocean drained slowly away.

For a long time more, he lay upon the land and gradually began to evolve a body. It was a strange body, strange to need to be encased in one after his unencumbered life in the sea. It had rubbery protuberances to move around on, except that they didn't work, and senses with which to perceive his environment, although they didn't work either.

Then, with aching sluggishness, the nerves in his skin covering began to discern the land beneath him. It was hard and cold. A different texture covered part of his skin, warmer and softer than the other but still scratchy and unpleasant to his awakening senses.

The air moving into and out of his developing body was cold and sweet. There were different flavors to it to be tasted and analyzed for the differences they had from each other, for he did not yet know that they denoted the identity of other things outside his world. There _was_ nothing outside of his world. He had no conception that such a thing was possible.

He became aware that there was sound there, too. That he had ears and that his brain detected the movement of air and the rustle of one surface moving against another. And he began to feel that there were things his senses were telling him that he should know already. That _that_ particular scent was the dusty smell of hewn sandstone. That _that_ sound was the silvery jingle of hanging metal objects. That _that_ sensation was the feel of a breeze ruffling through his hair.

And with each stir of his senses came a fuzzy image that formed in his consciousness and added to his awareness. As time wore on, he began to know that he was a living being and that he was one of many other living beings. Many of his own kind. And that he was an individual in that group. He had no specific memories, did not know who he was or where he was, but he knew that he lived and that there were others around him. He began to know that he was lying on a cool slab of rock and that one of the other beings was touching his face and his mind. He recognized that this was a female and ancient, although he didn't know how he knew that, only that he did.

Gradually, he became aware of his body. The useless limbs became arms and legs and sensation came back to them. He noticed the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in air and exhaled it again. His heart beat steadily, pumping blood throughout his arteries and veins. His mouth and throat felt dry and he experimentally moved his tongue against his teeth.

After a while, a sense of self began to develop within him. He still didn't know that he had a name. Indeed, he didn't know that _anything_ had a name, that separate entities had unique call sounds that helped other beings identify them.

And vague, almost formless faces began to appear in his mind, the other beings around him, and he began to understand that he too had a face and it looked like them. Two faces in particular began to come into focus, male and female, and he felt that he should know them. They seemed important to him somehow. He puzzled over this for a while and, though the faces got clearer, he still did not know who they were. Other faces hovered around, some dim, others gaining resolution. They meant nothing to him.

Then a sound was remembered in the recesses of his mind. He didn't understand it — _spock_ — although it was familiar. He repeated it over and over to himself. _spock spock spock_ Then suddenly, with a leap of revelation, he knew that the sound meant _him_. _He_ was _spock_. It was a word, a designation of himself. He liked it and ran it through his mind again. _Spock Spock Spock_

That amused him, and then he stopped and pondered that for a while. Other emotions were manifesting themselves now and he tasted each one and rolled it around to explore its texture, its fit. They seemed rather volatile. Perhaps he should be cautious with them until he gained their mastery.

And, as he rose closer and closer to the surface of consciousness, memories came flooding back. They overwhelmed him and he retreated from them. There were too many to sort out, too many to assimilate. He would take that slow, too, until he could separate and analyze them. But he understood that he was alive, a unique individual, Spock.

He felt the touch lift from his face and the presence of another entity withdraw from his mind. He was strong enough to go on without her now. He drew a deep lungful of morning air and, for the first time, opened his eyes. Only for a second, for he was not yet ready to fully relinquish his shadow world, his private place. The brief glimpse brought him the information that the other beings indeed existed around him and that he was in a place that he seemed to know. Something deep in his mind said — _Home_. _Vulcan_. _Safe_.

He wanted to go back to sleep again, but gentle hands were rousing him. Someone lifted his head a little and put something to his lips. He felt wetness, swallowed instinctively, a sip of water to quench the dryness. Then voices softly calling his name, telling him to wake up, to move. They wouldn't leave him alone and finally he began to come fully awake. He opened his eyes again to find several people bending over him and, although he didn't know any of them, his mind recognized that he was of their kind. _Vulcan_. Yes, he remembered now. They were _his_ people and this was his homeworld.

One of the faces, an older man, gained his attention, and recognition occurred there as well. His father. The man leaned over him and asked, "Spock? Can you hear me? Can you speak?"

It took a couple of seconds for his brain to process language, to recall syntax and grammar, words and punctuation, but then that began to come back to him as well. He tried to make this throat work, force sounds to coalesce into speech. Someone gave him more water to drink and he tried again. A hoarse croak was all he could manage but it was understandable. "...yes..."

"Spock, who am I?"

" ...Sa... Sarek..."

"Good. Try to sit up."

Hands assisted him as he pulled his body into an upright position and then he sat on the side of the stone, his bare feet dangling. The action made his head spin, but the others steadied him until his equilibrium had stabilized. Sarek was close beside him.

"Spock, do you know what has happened?"

"No," he whispered. His memories were too chaotic, too out of control. It was a whirl of faces, events, emotions. He couldn't find an opening, a place to start in sorting them out.

"You were terribly injured, my son. Your body was dead. Your friends came back for you and saved you. They brought you home. We have healed you here."

"...friends?"

Another man was looking at him, an older man, and Spock noticed him for the first time. He stared at him because this man was different. Not Vulcan. Similar but not the same. And his face was familiar, too.

"Are you ... friend?" Spock asked him hesitantly.

"Yes, Spock," the man answered, smiling. "Friend. For a very long time. I am McCoy."

Spock processed that information and memories began to come together about this man. Yes, he knew him.

"Your other friends are there," McCoy said and nodded to a small group of people standing at the base of short flight of stairs on a level just below them.

Spock studied them as well, and the faces were vaguely familiar, especially a brown-haired man at the front of the group. But again, the whirl of information overwhelmed him and he backed away from it.

Sarek now moved to help him stand and steadied him until his wobbly legs firmed up underneath him. The smooth stone beneath his feet was cold in the dawn chill and his body, now beginning to work at its normal levels again, reacted with a shiver. Two of the Vulcan men who had been standing nearby now came forward bearing a long, heavily-woven robe, quilted with a gold pattern across the yoke. He had not noticed that he was dressed at all but now saw that he wore only a shin-length black tunic, dirty and torn as if it had been through a lot of stress.

The two men moved him away from the view of the others and removed the torn black garment, then dressed him in the long, warm robe. One knelt and pulled ankle-high, soft-soled boots onto his feet, and warmth began to flood back into his chilled body. While they were dressing him, the others on the dais began to file down and out of the area, until finally the two priests escorted him down the steps as well.

As he passed the small group of people waiting for him, the face of the brown-haired man caused a swarm of memories to come together. Spock halted and slowly turned back to him, pushing the hood of his robe back from his face. The man was watching him hopefully as he slowly walked back to him.

"My father says that you are my friend. That you came back for me," Spock addressed him hesitantly.

"Yes, Spock," the man answered.

"Why would you do this?"

The man's warm hazel eyes held him in their steady gaze. "Because the needs of the one outweighed the needs of the many."

Spock considered this and did not understand it. It was too abstract a concept for him to comprehend just yet. He didn't know who the _one_ or the _many_ were or what it had to do with himself or the brown-haired man.

He started to turn away when something locked into place, a chunk of memories. And words. That _he_ had said this to the man. The words came to his lips almost unbidden. "I have been ... and ever shall be ... your friend," he said a little hesitantly.

A grin split the man's handsome features. "Yes, Spock!"

And then it came back to him like a light in a dark room. He remembered a chaos of pain and shouting and roaring light. And this man on the other side of a glass wall crying his name.

Spock moved toward him, again repeating words that surged up from the depths of his memories. "The ship! Out of danger?"

"You saved the ship. You saved us all. Don't you remember?"

The memories swirled again and more pieces went into the puzzle. He fought to make sense of it, to make it come into place.

Spock stepped closer to the man and looked at him hard for a moment, then ventured, "Jim... Your name is Jim."


	15. Chapter 15

**_Earth Standard Date: 2285_ **

**_San Francisco, Terra, Sol System_ **

 

For the past week, Christine had jumped every time the comm unit had chimed. But it was never the call she kept hoping for, praying for. She still hadn't a clue what Sarek meant about "succeeding" but she knew he had to call soon. He _must_.

Thus, when the comm chimed late that evening, she lunged for the answer button and then waited breathless when the computer informed her that a subspace call from Vulcan was coming in. She was unprepared for Jim Kirk's face to appear on the screen.

"Captain!" she exclaimed, automatically addressing him as she had for so many years, then caught herself. "Jim! What's happened?!"

"Hello, Christine," he grinned. "Good to see you, too."

"Please, Jim, I'm sorry, but I just can't make small talk," she sighed, then smiled back, realizing that she was a nervous wreck. "I apologize. I was expecting Sarek."

"Sarek's tied up with ... something," Kirk answered. "He asked me to contact you."

"What's happened? He wouldn't tell me anything!"

"Because he was protecting you until ... until we did what we had to do. We didn't want you hurt any more than you already had been."

"For God's sake, Jim—"

"Christine, are you sitting down?" She confirmed that she was. "Good, then grab something to hang onto as well." Kirk paused to make sure she was prepared. "Christine ... Spock is alive."

Absolute silence hummed across the subspace waves between the two planets for several long seconds. Finally, Kirk asked, "Christine? Did you hear me? Spock is alive."

She was still trying to get the world back into focus. "But ... but... what are you talking about?"

"I know this doesn't make any sense."

"No, it doesn't. How can Spock possibly be alive? He's dead. You shot his body into space. I'm sorry, Jim, but you're going to have to help me here."

So Kirk explained the whole thing to her. How Spock had implanted his _katra_ into McCoy before going into the reaction chamber, how the torpedo tube they'd used for his coffin had soft‑landed on Genesis, how the planet had regenerated him. He explained how Sarek had come to him and they'd hatched this desperate scheme. How they'd returned to Genesis to find the _Grissom_ destroyed and a Klingon bird of prey there instead. How David and the _Enterprise_ had died but how the rest of them, Spock included, had managed to get to the Klingon ship after defeating the crew, and then returned to Vulcan. There, Spock's _katra_ had been rejoined with his now living body through _fal-tor-pan_.

When he finished, Christine was sobbing, both through gladness that Spock was alive and horror at what her adored husband had gone through. And what their dear friends and family had sacrificed for the sake of their beloved comrade.

"Where is he, Jim?" she asked at last. "No — I'll get there as fast as I can! Even if _I_ have to hijack a ship to do it!"

Kirk looked uneasy. "Um, I don't think that would be a good idea right now, Christine," he said. All her alarms went off and she demanded an explanation. "I was about to get to that part," he answered. "Spock's memories are still very sketchy. He is still recovering from the _fal‑tor-pan_ and he is in the care of his parents right now. When he is better, Amanda and Sarek will begin a process of re-education. It's an intensive Vulcan technique that will hopefully bring back the things he's forgotten. But it may take several months to complete."

Kirk peered intently at her from the viewscreen. "Christine, he may not remember you. At least, he may not remember that you've been married. He knows Bones and me and recognizes Scotty, Uhura, Chekov and Sulu, but he can only remember that we were on a ship together. If I ask him about specific things, he doesn't know what I'm talking about. I don't ... I really don't think you should come to him now. He's very confused and trying to sort things out. And he's ... he's struggling with his emotions right now, too. He's having to re-learn the control he's always had."

Christine felt as if someone had ripped her heart out all over again, but she swallowed her grief and nodded. "I understand. I'll wait. Now that I know he's alive, I can wait."

"I'll keep you posted," Jim promised her. "We'll make sure that _that_ part of his life comes back to him, too."

* * *

Spock recovered rapidly and his mother began the re-education process. He advanced quickly there, as well, but there was so much to learn that it took a very long time. In the evenings, Kirk and his other crewmates would gather with him for dinner and the discussions would center around shipboard life, adventures they had shared, planets they had visited. Spock began to contribute more and more to the conversation as his memory came back.

He still puzzled over many things and an indefinable part of him still had not surfaced, most notably the dry, ironic sense of humor. Kirk discovered that this was something he must have picked up from his mother, for Amanda had it as well. In fact, the more Kirk got to know Amanda, the more he liked her. Underneath her quiet, cultivated, upper-class exterior, there beat the heart of a practical joker. He wished he'd known her in her younger days. She must have been hell on wheels!

He'd known that little spark of anarchy to reside in Spock. The Vulcan was well-known for his devastating riposte and deadly puns. Of course, he refused to admit that anything so human as a sense of humor existed in him, but his fellows had learned to just nod and agree with him. Now that spark was missing. Spock was having trouble understanding English-language puns and metaphors and took everything literally. They could only wait and see if that resolved itself as well.

One morning, about two months into the re-education process, Amanda had Spock flipping through 2-D photos of people he had known and worked with, Starfleet personnel, and Vulcan friends and family members. He was doing well, naming each one and then clicking rapidly on to the next one. But on one photo he paused and stared for a long moment.

Amanda was watching him intently. "Spock? And this is...?"

"Christine Chapel," he said absently. He clicked on past two or three more, then paused again and went back. "Christine..." he murmured.

"Do you know who she is, Spock?" his mother prodded.

"Nurse ... on the _Enterprise_..."

"And...?"

He shook his head. There was more that he should know. Something important but he couldn't quite make it materialize. "I ... I don't know exactly," he answered, suddenly feeling very confused.

Amanda reached over and clicked off the 2-D display then activated the holoviewer. A 3‑D image of Christine materialized on the desk in front of them. Only she was dressed in Vulcan attire. Spock stared hard at her and began to breathe a little more rapidly. He _knew_ her. Why couldn't he remember?

Amanda keenly regarded him. After a few seconds, she pressed another pad on the viewer and second image appeared beside Christine. It was Spock himself, looking very solemn and dignified beside her. Very close beside her.

Things began to come back to him. Camping in a desert. Breakfast on a terrace. Walking with her. Arguing with her. Sleeping with her. Tea before a fireplace. Playing a _ka'athyra_ while she smiled and answered mail. Passionate love-making and cold anger. Serious discussions and light-hearted banter. Birth and death. Joy and grief. Leaving and homecoming and...

...and he remembered. Everything. _Christine!_ His wife, his bonded mate. Frantically, he searched for her presence within his mind but there was no _kae'farr_ to find. It had broken with his death and she was gone.

His fragile control on his emotions began to shatter. Amanda saw his panic and quickly put her arms around him, comforting him as she had not been allowed to do since he was very young. "It's all right, Spock. Christine is fine. She's on Earth and has been following your progress very closely. We wanted you to remember her naturally, though. We weren't sure you would."

He was too emotional to speak, fighting hard to get control of himself. "I must go to Earth," he said finally.

"When you're ready, Spock," his mother assured him. "Jim and the others will be returning soon. You'll be much better by then and ready to make the journey." She released him and was pleased to see that he nearly had his emotions back in hand. "I think we've had enough for today. I'll leave you alone now and will see you at dinner."

"Yes..." he responded, but she knew that he wasn't really listening to her. His attention was focused on the hologram of the tall blonde-haired woman before him.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Earth Standard Date: 2285_ **

**_ShiKahr, Vulcan, 40 Eridani System_ **

 

For another month, the re-education process continued and Spock progressed more rapidly every day until he was able to function on nearly his former intellectual level. He still struggled with control over his emotions and at times overcompensated so that he blocked them out nearly completely. Amanda struggled with him on that front, attempting to reach a balance. In the end, however, she decided that it was something that would have to develop on its own as Spock continued his recovery.

Work continued on refurbishing the captured Klingon ship, with Vulcan technicians laboring away under Scotty's direction. The Vulcans found the Klingon design highly illogical and Scotty's instructions only a little less so, but they stoically followed his orders in converting Klingon controls and data banks to Starfleet design so that the ship could be handled easier by a human crew.

Spock continued to interact on a daily basis with his crewmates and, after a time, he began to notice that Saavik watched him with particular intensity. This puzzled him, for although he knew that she had been a student of his, he could fathom no reason for her special interest in him.

At last, one evening after dinner, he took her aside into the garden. "Lieutenant," he said in Vulcan as they walked underneath the canopy of desert stars. "I have noticed that I have drawn your continued attention of late. Is there a particular reason for this?"

"I am merely gratified to see that you are nearly fully recovered, sir," she responded.

He regarded her with a raised eyebrow. "I detect a note of evasion in your voice, Lieutenant."

"No, sir," she denied. "I do not evade your question. It's just that..."

"Just that what?"

She stopped walking and dropped her gaze, sighing. "Spock'kan, have your forgotten that you are my teacher?"

He was surprised by the way she addressed him and he answered automatically, "No, Saavikam, I have not. But I fail to see why this should cause you to watch me so closely."

She looked back up at him, her brown eyes holding an almost pleading expression. "Spock'kan, you were more to me than a mentor. Do you not recall the talks that we had? The time we spent together?"

He was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was heading. Emotions and memories swirled in chaos for a second before he could force them back into place. When he spoke, his voice had softened. "Saavikam, are you implying that our relationship was a sexual one? I do not remember _that_."

She bent her head and refused to look at him. "No, Spock'kan," she said in a low voice. "Although there were times, I confess, when I thought of you in a sexual manner. I wished that you were unbonded and might be free to lie with me. Such thoughts shamed me, because you always behaved with total propriety toward me. I knew that you never thought of _me_ in that manner and so I rid myself of such thoughts. I ask your forgiveness for the inappropriateness of my desires. But I _did_ come to think of you as a confidant. As a friend. I have missed _that_ aspect of our relationship."

He was startled by her frank declaration, but a part of him relaxed, the little voice of panic buried deep within him quietened. "I see." He considered it and faced her, his hands clasped behind his back in a more relaxed manner, but his voice was soft and rough with suppressed emotion. "I admit that I have also found you very ... attractive, Saavikam, and I too realized that such thoughts were highly improper in my position both as your instructor and as a bonded man. My bondmate is extremely important to me and I intend returning to her as soon as I can. However, I know of no reason why we should not continue to be friends. I enjoy your company and conversing with a fellow Vulcan can be most refreshing. I should like to continue our relationship in that aspect."

She nodded her agreement and turned partially away from him, looking back up at the stars. "I would find that most pleasant, Spock'kan." He did not reply, but joined her in studying the brilliant dusting of diamonds overhead.

"We shall be returning to Earth soon," he said, then commented, "I can never locate Sol from here. I should be able to find it, but its magnitude is simply too low. I suppose the Terrans say the same about Las'hark, though."

"They call it 40 Eridani," she answered.

"40 Eridani A, to be more precise," he corrected her. Vulcan's sun was the primary of a triple star system, an orange main-sequence dwarf star roughly the same magnitude as Sol.

Spock let his gaze wander along the line of mountain crests until he was caught and held by the pair of brilliant objects hanging above Seleya. High in the eastern sky burned Las'hark's two companions, red and white dwarf stars known as the Eyes. It was from the red star, Ni'ikhirch — the Eye of Fire — that Spock's family took its name. Visible even in the daytime, the Eyes meant home to him and he missed them when he was beneath a sky barren of their presence.

Saavik noticed his reverie and asked, "Do you ever find it irritating that we should be forced to refer to our star by their designation?"

He looked down at her. "Irritating, Saavikam? That is an emotion unworthy of a Vulcan."

"I ask forgiveness, Spock'kan."

"There is no need. And, yes, I _do_ find it irritating at times. Just as I sometimes find it extremely parochial of them to call our world and ourselves 'Vulcan' simply because they are unable to pronounce it correctly. The culture and history of _W~ l'c'n_ —" And he said it properly, with all its glottal stops and non-labial fricatives, some of which had no equivalent in English. "—far outdates the oldest civilization on Earth. They forget that we had charted the stars when they had barely reached their own satellite." He sighed. "And I have often found it a bit amusing that we are forced to be designated by our personal names because our family names are too difficult for them. I often wonder how the Admiral would feel if we referred to him as 'Admiral Jim'."

"And yet you have lived and worked with them for 25 years," she responded.

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes ... because, for all their aggressiveness and emotionalism and illogic — or perhaps because of it — they control the Federation and this section of the galaxy. And they have provided me with an opportunity as a scientist to explore that galaxy in a way that I would never have had if I had stayed on Vulcan." He caught himself and gave her a small, ironic smile. "See? Even I pronounce it that way now."

The breeze coming in from the desert plucked at their hair and clothing and rustled the leaves of the garden plants. It was decidedly chill. Spock turned back to the lights of the house, indicating that the young woman should accompany him.

"Come, Saavikam. The temperature is becoming uncomfortable. Let us continue our discussion at another time."

"Yes, Spock'kan."

He paused and looked down at her sincerely. "I am glad that we spoke tonight, Saavikam. I had forgotten that our relationship had become so..." He struggled to find the proper word.

She lightly touched his sleeve and gazed into his eyes. "Sir, I too am grateful for our talk. I hope that we can continue to be close friends ... no matter what the future brings."

He regarded her curiously for a second than responded, "Come inside. It's cold."

* * *

There came the day when the captured Klingon ship, redubbed the _HMS Bounty_ by McCoy, was ready to go and a vote had been taken among the human crewmembers on returning to Earth and facing Starfleet charges brought against them. It was unanimous that they return and on the following day they boarded the ship with Kirk announcing, "Everybody not going to Earth had better get off now!"

Saavik had been one of those on board and, as she was leaving, she came face to face with Spock, dressed in his long white robe and travel boots. They stopped and studied each other for a moment. Her expression was closed, a mask of Vulcan stoicism. Obviously, she wanted their parting to be on a strictly professional level, displaying no undue emotion before the humans.

"May you have an uneventful journey, Captain Spock," she said to him.

"Live long and prosper, Lieutenant," he responded in kind. If anything else passed between them, the humans present did not notice it. She kept her face impassive and stepped around him, walking down the hatchway into the golden morning light. As the ship locked up and prepared for launch, Saavik made her way to the top of the hill overlooking the landing site, where Amanda also stood. Saavik took her place beside the elderly woman.

The ship's thrusters ignited with a roar and an upwelling of dust, then slowly the ungainly Klingon ship rose and began to turn as it gained altitude. By the time it reached a sufficient height to ignite the main engine, it was high in the atmosphere and moving off fast into the bright orange sky.

Saavik and Amanda watched it disappear into the distance. Gradually, the dopplered roar faded away and the morning was quiet again. Only then did Saavik turn to the other woman and say, "Lady Amanda, I must speak with you regarding your son."

"Spock? Why, of course, Saavik. What is it?"

The sedate Vulcan expression did not change as Saavik responded, "I am pregnant."


	17. Chapter 17

**_Earth Standard Date: 2285_ **

**_San Francisco, Terra, Sol System_ **

 

Sarek had already returned to Earth, finding it necessary to resume his post in the Federation Council. The Klingon Empire had sent an emissary to demand the extradition of James Kirk and they were howling for blood. Never mind that they were not members of the Federation and, indeed, were its sworn enemies. Now their ambassador petitioned the august body to hand over one of its citizens for transport back to the Homeworld, be tried and executed for murder. The problem was that, of the many races that made up the Federation and, thus, its Ruling Council, there were those who were openly sympathetic to the Klingon cause. Sarek had returned to join his voice with those opposing the extradition.

It was in the midst of the debates that the alien probe appeared over Earth and began vaporizing the oceans in its search for its cetacean kin. Sarek knew that Kirk and his crew would be coming to Earth shortly but he was as surprised as any when they appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared a second later and crashed into San Francisco Bay.

Christine had come up with him to the control room and immediately gotten pulled into the hysteria gripping the room. She still held the rank of commander in Starfleet and she was shoved into a chair and handed a headset. There she tried to get power routed to the hospital complex while others around her were shouting just as frantically for power for their own sections.

It was all over almost before it had begun, however, as the newly released whales answered their counterparts' summons and the probe abruptly broke off its attack. The weather cleared rapidly and, from their vantage point in the command center, she could look out towards the Bridge and see the ugly Klingon ship riding low in the water, slowly but steadily sinking. There were several small figures huddled on one of the wings awaiting rescue from the Bay Patrol boats now speeding out towards them. One figure was tall, slim and dressed in white. She couldn't make out more than that, but she knew without shadow of a doubt that it was Spock.

Her heart pounding wildly, she had to force herself to wait, to be still. Sarek joined her and together they watched the boats gather in the refugees and bring them back to shore while the starship finally settled beneath the waters of the Bay.

* * *

Starfleet Security took them all into custody and, after getting them dried off and having the quartermaster's office issue them replacement clothing, took them all into separate debriefings. Sarek managed to flex his diplomatic muscle and get in to see his son, but Christine was barred. After a while, the Vulcan ambassador emerged again and took her aside.

"It will be several hours. I see no reason for you to wait here. I will arrange for you to be driven home and I will have Spock brought to you as soon as he is released by security."

She could barely stand to tear herself away from the spot, knowing that _somewhere_ in this building, her miraculously returned husband was being questioned. But she saw the logic in Sarek's decision. If she stayed, she'd be ready for a padded cell by the time she did see Spock and she wanted time to prepare for him. After all, even though Sarek had told her that Spock had remembered his relationship with her, Christine knew that Spock was not fully himself. She didn't know what to expect from him.

So, she sat quietly in the embassy limousine as the driver took them through the city and into the hills where her apartment was located. Her hands were knotted together during the entire ride, but she maintained control.

Once at home, she went about a nervous routine of bathing and dressing, dropping things as her numb fingers refused to grip properly. She paced through all the rooms of the apartment. Should she prepare food? Would he be hungry? Should she build a fire in the fireplace? He always enjoyed a fire and, even though the weather was still warm outside, somehow a fire seemed like a cozy, welcoming thing.

The hours passed slowly and still he did not come. The sun sank into the Pacific behind the Golden Gate, the sky flaming against the still lingering storm clouds. Finally, she put on some soft music that she hoped would relax her and curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs in the living area, hugging her knees up to her chin and watching the flames dancing in the fireplace.

At first she didn't hear the soft clicking sounds of the security computer analyzing a pattern and accepting it. But when the front door opened and closed, she gasped and whirled around in her chair. She was on her feet immediately and running to him, tears blinding her.

He met her halfway and caught her in his arms, holding her as if he would never let her go. And then he was kissing her, frantically, hungrily, like a man dying of thirst who'd found a wellspring in the desert. He called her name over and over, just to hear the sound of it while she clung to him and kissed him and wept.

Then he was taking her down onto the big soft rug before the fireplace, and there he gave her the homecoming he had promised her so many weeks before.

* * *

The Federation Council refused to extradite Admiral Kirk to the Klingons and they stormed out of the council chambers declaring that vengeance would be theirs! Starfleet gave them an escort to the edge of Federation space, both out of diplomatic courtesy and because nobody trusted them any further than they could throw them. The starships hung around in the area for a week or so, just to make sure the Klingons had indeed gone home, then they too dispersed, with the _Hood_ doing routine patrol duty up and down the border in that area for a while longer.

Kirk and his crew were charged with several major violations of Starfleet Regulations, the most serious of which were (1) theft of a capital ship, (2) destruction of Starfleet property, to wit: said capital ship, (3) sabotage of Starfleet property, to wit: the _Excelsior_ , (4) mutiny, and (5) violating direct orders from a superior officer. The judge advocate general's office provided them with mandatory counsel and they were all confined to the brig until their hearing. Spock, of course, having taken no part in the events other than as an innocent bystander and being declared _non compos mentis_ at the time of said events, was not charged.

The Klingon ship was hauled out of San Francisco Bay and turned over to Starfleet Intelligence who were busily and happily reverse engineering it to see what the Klingons had come up with that the Federation had somehow missed learning about. The ship smelled a bit muddy and fishy after its dunk in the Bay but McCoy declared that it was probably an improvement and was the first good swabbing out the ship had ever had!

Spock and Christine, meanwhile, could not get enough of one another. Each was reluctant to leave the other's presence and they constantly touched each other in a hundred little ways each day, as if to insure that the other was really there. He was not exactly the same man she had known and loved for the past several years, though. While his memories had mostly returned and he continued his re-education in various subjects, he was nonetheless different. The rigid Vulcan control was not so sturdily in place and he tended to smile more and enjoy things more openly. And, although the _facts_ of knowledge had returned to him, the _experience_ of them had not. He had lost a lifetime of happenings that had honed him and shaped him into the person she had known. Now, he seemed more innocent, more guileless, almost child-like in some cases when he looked at things and examined them. He was discovering the world all over again, this time without a stern, disapproving father to stifle his natural curiosity and an environment of taunting, teasing acquaintances to chisel away the softer parts.

He hadn't changed completely, of course. When he implanted his _katra_ into McCoy, with it had gone all that he was, all that made him a being special unto himself. _That_ had come back and he was capable of commanding and leadership, of being maddeningly obtuse in a Vulcan sort of way, of sensitivity and creativeness... Even his sense of humor was beginning to re-establish itself as his command of English grew. Sometimes he made an unintentional pun and didn't understand what he had said that sent Christine into peals of laughter, but increasingly, his old personality was settling back into place.

Except that the hardness wasn't there. He was simply more relaxed and easy-going than he had been. He didn't seem to have to _prove_ anything to anyone anymore and that suited Christine just fine. She knew that she could snuggle up to him in the evenings on the couch and watch the holos without him commenting constantly on how illogical Earth entertainment was. Now, he simply watched, looking puzzled a great deal of the time as he absorbed and analyzed the programs, and only infrequently remarking that a Vulcan would never do _anything_ like that.

But one more critical thing was missing — the _kae'farr_. He could and did establish a mindlink with her when they made love, intensifying the pleasure to almost unbearable heights, but the constant presence in the back of her mind that kept him always with her, no matter how much actual distance separated them, was gone. It chafed at her and she could tell that he was bothered, as well, and was probably the reason he stayed so close to her.

Since he had not gone back on active duty yet, that meant he was home a great deal of the time. While she was at work, he used the time to re-read their library, to explore the education links of the Federation computer net, pulling up and speed-reading hundreds of literary and scientific books. Sometimes he would ride into the city with her and spend the day at the Starfleet library, absorbing books and tapes at an astonishing rate. He read naval history, tactics, ship design, weapons design, engineering manuals, naval law, treaties between planets, mathematics and astrogation textbooks, cybernetics, quantum theories — anything he could get his hands on. And his intellect leaped accordingly. One day he found himself reading papers on duotronics that he himself had written and this proved to be doubly insightful, both into the subject and into himself as he used to be.

Still, he did not feel confident enough in his abilities to resume his teaching duties and he resigned from the Academy as an instructor. He petitioned Starfleet to return him to active duty and a mental and physical examination certified him to do so. He donned the red and black uniform of Starfleet again and was surprised to find how comfortable he felt in it.

He determined that he would stand with his fellows when their hearing came up at the beginning of next week and to lend his support in whatever befell them. And he did one other thing. He asked Christine to return to Vulcan with him and marry him again. Their marital situation had been in legal limbo since his death. She had been a widow and then wasn't one. The breaking of the _kae'farr_ had severed their marriage bond, yet they were back together again and never felt that they had been _unmarried_ at any time. But one thing was certain — both desperately missed the mindlink between them and they both wanted it back. They made plans to remarry as soon as the Starfleet hearing was over.

* * *

Christine clasped her hands nervously together as she sat in the spectator section of the Federation Council Chamber beside Sarek and the young scientist, Gillian Taylor, who had come back from the 20th century with them. Spock had stepped down and now stood beside his friends and crewmates on the floor of the chamber facing the podium where the President of the United Federation of Planets regarded them.

"Admiral Kirk, how do you plead?" he demanded.

"Mr. President, on behalf of all of us, I am authorized to plead ... guilty," Kirk answered, his voice nearly failing him at the end, evidence of the awful dread he felt in spite of his resolve to face the consequences of his actions.

The spectators in attendance held their collective breath as the President handed down sentence. Unbelievably, charges were dropped for all except Kirk. Because of his position of leadership, he was reduced in rank to captain — Christine could almost see his shoulders sink a bit as the weight of that decision came to rest — but then the President smiled and delivered his _coup de grace_. Command of a starship — his first, best destiny, as Spock had once said.

A cheer went up throughout the chamber and all the delegates rose to their feet, applauding. Colleagues rushed onto the floor to slap backs and pump hands. All of the "mutineers" looked dazed, even Spock, who turned and sought the faces of his wife and father in the crowd. The gathering began to disperse and Kirk went over to speak to Gillian. Christine came down to where Spock was standing and squeezed his arm, all the affection she would display towards him in public, although she was grinning proudly.

"I'm so glad!" she said. "I was really afraid of the worst!"

"As was I," he answered. "It would have been most awkward for you to be the wife of a prison inmate."

"Oh, Spock, you were never in danger of _that_. You weren't charged with anything."

"But I would have felt compelled to join my colleagues in whatever sentence was ultimately handed down. After all, were it not for I, they would not be in this predicament at all."

Sarek had been talking with some of the other Vulcans there and now he moved towards the main door. "I must speak with my father before he goes," Spock said and strode across the council chamber. Christine watched him with pride as he stood tall and self-assured before his father. Whenever he was in uniform, he was like a lion ... strong, commanding, confident. Regal, even.

She caught herself smiling at that. He could protest all he wanted — he _was_ a prince of Vulcan, a descendant of ancient rulers and priests. She knew it and Amanda knew it. And anyone who really looked at him would know it, as well.

As she watched, Sarek lifted his hand in salute and Spock followed his example. They parted amicably and her husband walked over to where Kirk was waiting for him. Spock looked relaxed and pleased as they rejoined her.

Kirk was in an expansive mood. "How about some dinner?" he invited them. "It's on me."

"... _on_ you, Captain?" Spock repeated hesitantly and did an involuntary glance down at Jim's uniform tunic.

"I'm _paying!_ "

"Oh... In that case, we are starving," Spock replied, looking at his wife for confirmation.

"Absolutely!" she seconded.

"Good. How about Italian?"

"I love Italian," Christine affirmed. "And so does he."

"I hate Italian," Spock responded.

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Forget it!" Kirk threw up his hands. "We'll eat Chinese!"


	18. Chapter 18

**_Earth Standard Date: 2286_ **

**_ShiKahr, Vulcan, 40 Eridani System_ **

 

As Vulcan loomed red-orange in the viewport, Spock and Christine had a mutual feeling of _deja vu_. They hadn't been back to this planet together for a long time and now, returning to renew their bonding, they felt as if it were the first time. T'Pau was too ill now to oversee the joining and they had asked T'Lar, the high priestess who had performed Spock's _fal-tor-pan_ , to bond them.

T'Lar was also a member of Spock's vast extended family, one of the daughters of T'Pau, and at first she had been reluctant. She had disapproved of the addition of another human into the clan in the first place and, once gotten rid of, did not necessarily want her back. But her mother, though now shriveled and tiny with age, still radiated a formidable power from her bed. What T'Pau wanted, T'Pau got. And what she wanted right now was that her great-grandson's marriage be repaired. She made it known in no uncertain terms that if _she_ approved of Spock's bonded wife, T'Lar had no say in the matter.

T'Lar backed down. Even in _her_ exalted position, she would not challenge the might of the diminutive old woman who ruled the Family and essentially all of Vulcan. The rebonding would take place at the Place of Marriage and Challenge as planned.

So now Spock and Christine watched the landscape of Vulcan slide beneath them as the transport pierced the atmosphere at a gentle angle and assumed the proper trajectory for the spaceport at tu'Var'i'chi. The deserts and hills slipped past but surprisingly, at least to anyone who was not familiar with the planet, so did large cities, vast cultivated fields, intricate canal systems and surprisingly large expanses of water, the coppery seas glittering underneath the red sun.

The city of their destination appeared ahead, spreading symmetrically out before them, the spaceport like a daughter colony off to one side. There were a number of ships in port and the passenger transport was directed to an empty bay in the commercial sector. Landing and securing the ship only took minutes and then the passenger attendant came on the shipwide intercom and welcomed them to Vulcan, announced that transporter connections to various parts of the planet were available following customs check-in, and that she hoped everyone enjoyed their stay. The captain had signaled that it was now safe to disembark. Please pick up luggage at the customs desks.

Spock, as a native-born Vulcan, slipped through customs quickly. Christine's entry took a little longer, although there were no problems, just the usual amount of paperwork. They retrieved their bags and headed for the transport pads, where they were beamed to the public pads at ShiKahr. The family car was awaiting them there and they made the rest of their journey home in little under an hour.

Amanda was waiting for them just inside and she embraced Christine in welcome. Then, because Sarek wasn't there, she gave Spock a quick hug as well, before he could protest. "Mother, please," he sighed, as if this were an established ritual.

"Oh, hush," Amanda retorted. "Let's get your luggage upstairs. I'm sure you're both tired from your trip and would like to freshen up." She pressed a summons button on a nearby table and a young Vulcan male appeared. "Ah, Syleen... Would you be so kind as to take these bags to _Sai_ Spock's bedroom? Thank you." She turned back to her daughter-in-law. "He has been staying with us so much lately, we decided to just permanently convert it back to his room again," she explained. "Now, you two go rest and I will see you for cocktails at evenmeal."

Spock quirked an eyebrow at her. "Cocktails, Mother? Since when?"

She looked just slightly annoyed. "Since recently. I'll expect both of you. There's a matter we all need to discuss."

With that, she shoo'ed them up the stairs and disappeared toward the garden area at the rear of the residence.

* * *

The antique Earth clock on the living room mantle was just striking six as Spock and Christine descended the stairs, still puzzled by the mystery, and entered the large living area to one side of the entry. Both had changed into Vulcan attire, Spock dressed in a midnight blue tunic and pants with the family sigil embroidered in silver down the front. Christine followed in dutiful manner, careful not to trip over the flowing cranberry-colored skirts and veils she now wore.

Amanda was already there and she handed them both a tall, fluted glass of white wine, then took one for herself.

"This is most unusual, Mother," Spock commented as he took a sip and appraised it. "This is an Earth vintage, is it not?"

"Yes. I prefer it over the domestic wines. There is something about Earth's climate and soil that adds just the right sugar content to it."

"I had no idea you were a connoisseur of wines," he responded.

She gazed at him with a profound and patient expression. "Spock, there are a great many things you have never learned about me. I had a life, you know, before I met your father."

"Indeed." He let it go at that. "I note that there are four glasses here."

"Yes, there will be one more guest joining us. Ah, here she is now."

Spock and Christine turned toward the doorway and were surprised to see Saavik enter the room. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she was dressed in a soft, flowing gown of muted, mixed colors. And she was also noticeably pregnant.

"I apologize for my lateness," she said to the small group.

"Not at all, dear," Amanda answered. "Come and join us. Would you care for wine?"

"Yes, thank you, _T'Sai_ Amanda," she replied, then nodded at Spock. "Hello, Captain. It is good to see you again."

Spock responded with a polite Vulcan greeting. "May I introduce you to she who is my wife, _T'Sai_ Christine."

Saavik greeted the other woman a bit coolly, but that might have only been her Vulcan reserve showing.

"Now that we're all here and pleasantries have been exchanged, let's get right to business," Amanda spoke up, seating herself on the couch. "I see you've noticed Saavik's condition."

Spock looked over at his mother curiously. "Indeed, but it would have been impolite of me to mention it."

Amanda all but snorted. "Saavik, tell him."

The young Vulcan turned and looked calmly up at her mentor and commanding officer. "Spock'kan, I carry your child."

Christine nearly dropped her wine glass and had to sit down suddenly as her knees went weak. She felt as if a bolt of lightning had knocked her flat.

In truth, Spock felt thunderstruck as well, although he maintained his control. He stared at Saavik's serene face, then his eyebrows lowered dangerously as he shook his head. "That is impossible, Saavikam. You know well that there was never any sexual conduct between us."

"You are wrong, Spock'kan. This child was conceived on Genesis."

At that, his eyebrows shot up in surprise, then he recovered. "Genesis?"

Christine was looking from Spock's hard, impassive face to Saavik's cool, confident one. "What happened on Genesis?" she demanded.

"Yes, I would be most interested to hear that, as well," he seconded, his tone like granite.

"It is quite simple," Saavik answered, still with her gaze locked unwaveringly on Spock's eyes. "As your body went through its regeneration and aging process, you experienced your first _pon farr_. You were in need of release from the _plak tow_. I allowed you to use me for that purpose. You would have died otherwise."

Christine buried her face in one hand. _Good God_ , she thought. _She did the same thing I did and for the same reasons_.

Spock was beginning to look uncertain, unsure of himself. His body lost its rigid stance and he took a deep breath to steady himself. Saavik went on, "I had no idea that I would conceive. At the time, my primary purpose was to keep us all alive until we could be rescued."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" he demanded.

"Because I did not wish to distract you from your recovery from the _fal-tor-pan_ ," she answered.

"She came to me and told me as soon as you all had returned to Earth," Amanda said. "Of course, I took her into the household immediately."

"Of course..." Spock muttered and turned to walk towards the garden door. He put his hands behind his back and bowed his head, evidently in deep thought.

"Why 'of course'?" Christine asked, genuinely curious.

"Because Saavik is unbonded," Amanda explained. "When such a thing happens ... and it does occasionally ... it is the family's duty to provide shelter and care for the mother until some resolution is reached. Usually it simply means that the parents bond shortly thereafter and all is legal and proper."

"But Spock is already ... already bonded ... to me," Christine stuttered and then whirled to look at her husband, still standing with his back to them, peering out into the garden. "I mean, he _will_ be bonded to me. Oh, dear..."

"There you see the problem," Amanda answered, leaning back into the cushions of the couch. "If he doesn't marry her, then her child will be a _krenath_ ... a bastard. Even among so logical a people as these, there is a stigma attached to such a thing. It reflects very badly on the family to allow such irresponsibility. The family loses face over it because its son or daughter has such little regard for the clan that he or she would do something so illogical and harmful to a child. The Vulcans are incredibly clannish and a child born outside the clan structure has very little opportunity in this society."

Spock turned back, his face clearly displaying his anger and frustration. "Yes, so now I have a choice. To bond with the woman who has been the wife of my heart for many years and reject my child, or to bond with the woman who carries my child and reject the woman I love."

Christine blinked. That he would use the word "love" without apparently thinking about it showed the depth of his distress. She felt absolutely crushed by the situation. Because she knew that Spock would do the honorable thing, no matter how he felt about it personally. She had seen him do it too many times in the past. There was no way that he would reject Saavik and their unborn child. It was his tradition-bound duty to support both and he would honor that tradition.

He saw in her face what she was thinking and his expression softened as he looked down at her. "I _am_ sorry, Christine. You know what I must do."

A tear slipped down her cheek. "I know," she answered in a barely audible voice. "What else _can_ you do?"

Saavik was regarding them both and raised an eyebrow in what must have been a universal Vulcan gesture. "Spock'kan ... I did not say that I would bond with you," she said.

He and the two other women turned and stared mutely at her, taken by surprise. "I beg your pardon?" he finally managed.

"I did _not_ say that I would bond with you," she repeated.

"But ..." He got no further than that.

"I am pledged to another," she explained, as if it were obvious. "I have found someone with whom I have agreed to bond – Syleen -- once my pregnancy is over. He has not yet experienced his Time, but he will challenge you before he would release me. And, Spock'kan, I _do_ intend to bond with him. I have no intention of invoking the challenge between the two of you."

"But what about the baby?" Amanda asked. "Why did you come to me if you don't intend to marry Spock?"

"Because the child belongs to him," she answered, again as if it were totally understandable. "If he acknowledges the paternity of the child, then he is duty bound to accept it and care for it."

Spock suddenly looked amazed and nodded in revelation. "As my wife is duty bound to do the same ... whether she is the mother or not," he said, and looked around at Christine.

She drew her breath in a gasp as she too understood what Saavik was up to. "A surrogate!" she exclaimed. "Saavik is carrying this child as a surrogate!"

"You cannot have children," the young Vulcan acknowledged. "Your system cannot tolerate Vulcan genes. But I can. My Romulan blood and Spock's Vulcan blood are nearly identical. We sprang from the same stock. While the child will be 1/4 human, the Vulcanoid features are stronger and will dominate."

Christine rose and came toward Saavik, opening her arms to embrace her. The Vulcan apprehensively backed up a step, but Christine persisted and hugged her anyway. When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. "Thank you," was all she could say.

"There is no need to thank me," Saavik responded, looking puzzled. "It was the only logical thing to do."


	19. Chapter 19

**EPILOGUE**

**_Earth Standard Date: 2286_ **

**_Mt. Seleya, Vulcan, 40 Eridani System_ **

 

Spock and Christine's bonding ceremony became something else entirely. Saavik joined them at the Place of Marriage, surrounded this time only by family members, as was proper. T'Lar re-established the _kae'farr_ , the permanent mindlink that bound them together always. Then they brought Saavik in between them and placed their hands on her burgeoning abdomen and, through T'Lar, established a link with the unborn child within. The baby was now legally as much Christine's as it was Spock's, and Saavik was the vessel in which it grew.

When the time came that she should be delivered, they took her to the Place of Birth where they were met by a _reldai_ , a priestess-midwife. It was a natural cavern near the family shrine at the base of Mt. Seleya, clean and dry and where generations had been born before. Christine stayed with the laboring girl and supported her, cooling her fevered face with a damp cloth and gripping her hand when the pains hit.

As was Vulcan custom, Spock was not allowed near the women, so he loitered about near the cavern entrance, doing his best not to appear nervous or distracted by the sounds of creation issuing forth. In truth, he was reliving Solon's birth and finally made himself clear his mind and practice _arie'mnu_ , mastery of passion and emotion. The meditation helped and he was able to remove himself mentally from his surroundings.

He came to himself abruptly and saw that the sun was lowering behind the mountain rims. The sounds from the cavern had changed and then he heard footsteps approaching from within the entrance. Getting hurriedly to his feet, he saw that it was Christine. She was smiling radiantly and, in her arms she carried a swaddled bundle.

"Spock," she said. "Here is your son."

He came to look and peered down at the tiny figure his wife cradled. The little face was perfect and also perfectly Vulcan, delicate upswept eyebrows and petite, exquisitely shaped ears, dark silky hair capping his features. "Isn't he beautiful?" she asked.

Struggling with emotions that suddenly welled up inside him, Spock looked down at his wife and said, "Selek. _Our_ son."

"Yes."

"Saavik?"

"She's fine," Christine confirmed. "The _reldai_ are caring for her. They've already taken her back to the medical quarters of the temple. She'll rest and probably will be back up and around in a day or so."

"That soon?"

"Of course," his wife responded. "Vulcan women are as strong as this mountain. Why do you think they choose to give birth here? Seleya is their goddess."

"Christine, Vulcans do not worship goddesses," Spock told her matter-of-factly.

"That shows all _you_ know," she retorted smugly and somewhat mysteriously. "Anyway, I must get Selek back to Saavik so she can nurse him. I'm going to stay here with them tonight. I will see you in the morning, sweetheart." No one was around so she pulled him down to her level with one hand and kissed him thoroughly. "I love you ... Daddy."

" _Daddy_?" he repeated incredulously. "Such an appellation is inappropriate for a Vulcan. We do not use such titles to denote family relationships."

"Never mind. Say goodbye to your daddy, Selek," she cooed to the baby. Christine grinned at him and then disappeared back into the cavern with the baby.

Spock shook his head. "Daddy..." he said again. Fatherhood might be more difficult than he imagined.

He sighed in resignation and started down the footpath towards ShiKahr. First he must inform his parents that their grandson had arrived and then he must put in a call to Earth, where godfathers-to-be Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy and his other shipmates were anxiously awaiting the news that it was time to start "wetting the baby's head" ... whatever that meant.

Las'hark slipped below the mountain's rim and a corona of sunrays shot across the early evening sky behind him.

 

**THE END**


End file.
